


A Good Governess

by sparrowshift



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (In Rey's childhood: Ben's children don't die), (it's a Victorian AU, Alcohol, Also he gets better, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Ben is a mediocre dad, Blood, Blood and Injury, Boss/Employee Relationship, Child Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Happily Ever After, Hurt/Comfort, Jane Eyre elements, Loss of Parent(s), No Pregnancy, No historical accuracy, References to past school corporal punishment, Snark, Unsafe Sex, You Need A Teacher, bratty Force-wielding children, but he has his reasons, but they just have feelings!, canonverse elements, they don't have much choice for safe PIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24939709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowshift/pseuds/sparrowshift
Summary: Mr. Ben Solo’s children have gone through fifteen governesses. The twins can manipulate minds and throw objects using the Force, which tends to put a damper on learning. But when Force-sensitive Miss Rey Walker arrives, she seems up to the task… especially with a bit of training from Mr. Solo.Jane EyremeetsThe Sound of Musicmeets a canonverse AU where Rey is Ben’s padawan. With a good dose of Kevin Wilson’sNothing to See Here. Shamelessly steals from all sources of inspiration.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 452
Kudos: 617





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> A few things before the fic starts: 
> 
> 1\. If you’re coming from _My dearest nemesis,_ the pace isn’t going to be as quick. There will still be quips! Even in the next chapter! Just not quite with the same density. 
> 
> 2\. CW: children. I know no one reads fanfic to see characters interacting with OC ten-year-olds. But Rey’s relationship with the kids is crucial to how she views and interacts with Ben. I didn’t want the kids to be background furniture to the romance. There will be fewer child scenes as the fic progresses. (Also: writing kids is hard, help. Thank Kevin Wilson for the tone I blatantly stole.)

**i.**

The sun shines uncharacteristically hot on the lawn of Hanna Hall. 

Rey can already feel the sweat dripping down her back, her chemise dampening as she assumes the starting position, sabre held in front of her. Mr. Solo stands maybe fifteen paces away. He has taken off his jacket and necktie as usual. She can see a glint of his bare chest, which she is well-practiced in attempting to ignore. 

The sun irritates her, as does the fact that he maintains his distance, waiting for her to strike first. Would it kill him to make the thrashing quick this time around? She calls out to him: "Come closer, sir, so that I may rest under your prodigious shade."

"You'll rush at me yourself soon enough, dear pupil. Or have you performed a blood sacrifice to grant you patience since our last session?" She can’t see the specifics of his face — he stands too far away, the sun shines too bright — but she knows he’ll have that sardonic glint in his eyes. Infuriating man. She would be a much better teacher, were he to need lessons in arithmetic. 

Well then. She can play predictable at first. Perhaps that could be her strategy. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to centre herself. The sun is a distraction, yes, but she can feel the vague outline of the grass, the hot earth, the almost imperceptible disturbance of the spot where he stands. 

_Good._ And she charges towards him, striking at his chest. 

Dealing with the combined weight of her corset, petticoat, and gown had been a trick at first. But she quickly learned that she could use the weight to her advantage, leaning into each strike as it hits home. He parries easily, but that was to be expected, and she’s ready with another blow to his side. His sabre glances hers again, he turns the movement into a blow toward her shoulder — but she’s already twisting out of the way, so he’s almost unbalanced as he turns to keep facing her, a small grin toying at the corner of his lips. 

She would never admit to thoughts so unbecoming to a governess, but she loves _this_ more than anything else. She is not a teacher anymore, not his employee, not even his student. She has yet to best him, but the sabre sings with possibilities of righting all the small imbalances between them. When they battle they both move in sync, bodies in service to the Force and the pure dance of the fight. 

(And beneath even that thought, a need, small and earnest and hidden even from herself — the excuse to be near _him.)_

Then she sees it. The smallest opening, the smallest chink in his defensive footwork. And suddenly, for the first time, she presses the sabre to his throat. 

The very air seems to go still. For the first time since they began, she can hear the sound of whirring insects. Something hot is pulsing in the Force. His surprise, perhaps? Her pride? His expression is dark, unreadable as he looks down at her. She must look a sight: red-faced and wild. She realizes she’s holding her breath...

Then the bloodthirsty whoop of a child cuts through the tension. “Slice him in two, Miss Walker!” 

Karina’s voice. Both the twins are bouncing excitedly, buzzing with repressed energy. Rey knows she should reprimand them: the children were allowed to watch on the condition of silence. 

But she’s still distracted. Mr. Solo is still looking down at her, pupils blown. Even though she has the upper hand, she feels pinned under his gaze. She glances at the beads of sweat on his upper lip, his mouth parting slightly...

“I yield,” he says, standing back. And the spell is broken as Karina and Harrison descend in a swarm, chattering, ready to provide expert analysis. 

**...**

**_Several months earlier_ **

The day she arrives at Hanna Hall is nothing like that future day, on the lawn under the hot sun. Instead, night approaches. The sky is overcast, the wood scattered with patches of almost-melted snow. She pulls her cloak closer around her as a cold mist begins to fall. The wagon left the nearest town a half-hour ago. She couldn’t afford any form of transportation from there, so was grateful to find Mr. Mitaka and his wagon were waiting for her at the inn at the behest of her employer. Hopefully her few possessions in the trunk — three dresses of increasing fineness, paper, a pen, a few school primers — will stay dry. 

Then the wagon rounds the bend with a bump, she gets her first glimpse of the Hall. 

The front facade is imposing. Vines creep up the stone in that gothic way that can only be described as “wizened.” A sizable lawn stretches in front of the house, but there’s no real garden. Instead, the wood presses up to the estate like a starving animal to which the house succumbs: the roof on the south side is riddled with holes, and she can even spot the movement of crows. 

What sort of family would live in such a manner? And what sort of children? Her imagination, as always, begins to get the best of her. Perhaps she has been lured to Hanna Hall on some false pretence. Months from now, some unwitting traveller will find her body in the ruins… 

But as the wagon stops under the shadow of the house, she finds a perfectly ordinary figure to greet her. A tiny woman of advanced age, simply dressed, wearing enormous glasses that amplify her eyes and give her an owlish appearance. 

She beckons Rey forward, moving toward a side entryway. “Miss Walker! Welcome to Hanna Hall.” 

“Mrs. Kanata, I presume?” Rey bobs her head, struggling with the trunk. 

“The very same. Oh, leave that, dear, I’m sure Dopheld would be happy to bring it up.” She waves to the driver. “You must be cold: come in, tea awaits.” 

She leads Rey through a warm kitchen smelling of spice and onions, past several other service rooms, and into a more formal parlour. A fire is going, and the promised tea for two has been set out alongside some toast. 

Mrs. Kanata bustles around her, making sure her seat is perfect and that the drink and toast are to her liking. The attention makes Rey feel ill-at-ease at first. Social teas were hardly a staple of her life. But Mrs. Kanata is generous enough to fill the silence, and wise enough to let the room fall quiet once Rey seems ready to speak. 

“I appreciate your response to my advertisement, and hope I can be a good governess to your children,” she says. 

“My children? Oh, no I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood, I’m the housekeeper. The children belong to the gentleman of Hanna Hall, Mr. Solo. He would have been here to evaluate you himself, but I’m afraid he is often called off on business. So it’s just me. You come from the Jakku Institute for Young Ladies?” 

Rey confirms this. 

“And do you have experience with the instruction of children?”

“Some, ma’am. I tutored the younger ones, at Jakku.” She tries to sip her tea in a way that conveys experience, if such a thing were possible. She finds she’s already finished her cup. Drat. 

But Mrs. Kanata refills her drink without comment. Then: “So you have never had full-time pupils.” 

“I’m afraid not, ma’am,” Rey feels herself go hot as she begins to fumble with her answer, “but I was the Institute’s top student — and I assure you I’m most eager —” 

The housekeeper waves off her stuttering. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter much. The children have been through several governesses. In truth, you are the sixteenth. Mr. Solo has an urgent need to fill the now-vacant position, so he thought it best to try some less polished avenues. Your advertisement mentioned you are sensitive to the Force?”

“Yes, though I received no training,” Rey admits. She tries not to sting at the “less polished” comment, though Mrs. Kanata seems to bear her no ill-will. “But I have heard some families find it a source of pride to have a Force-sensitive governess. Perhaps Mr. Solo seeks similar prestige?” 

Mrs. Kanata lets out a wheezy laugh, her wrinkles deepening. “Mr. Solo doesn’t care a fig for the values of high society. Nevertheless, it would have been better if you had received training in the Force. But we’ll see how you fare. I suppose at worst you’ll only flee like the rest of them.” 

An ominous pronouncement. “So the children - are they… are they…” Rey struggles to find a phrase that would avoid insult. Are they demon spawn? Do they dine on governesses? Finally, she lands on: “....quite mischievous?” 

The wheezy laugh again. “Oh, they’re little scamps, like most children their age, but they hold no malice,” Mrs. Kanata says affectionately. “It’s their abilities that make them difficult. Luckily they’re of the age where they can fend for themselves in matters of dress and cleanliness, otherwise I would struggle more.” 

“Their abilities — ?” 

Mrs. Kanata smiles mysteriously. “I suppose it’s time you saw for yourself. It is nearly their bedtime.” 

**...**

Mrs. Kanata leads her up rickety stairs and down a narrow hallway, past several doors. They’re on the south side of the house, the side that was better maintained. But even the lived-in quarters feel cavernous here, especially after the warmth of the tea. No lamps are lit, and only the moonlight and candlelight fight back against the night. Rey is surprised, therefore, when Mrs. Kanata opens the door onto a perfectly ordinary nursery. Two beds. A wash basin with a pitcher. Reassuring signs of normal childhood delights: marbles, a jump rope, a doll. 

Her charges are already in their nightclothes, sitting on the end of their beds, but they stand to attention as soon as she walks in. As the letter described, there’s two of them: a boy and a girl. They both have dark hair, pale faces, and a slightly grubby appearance from what Rey assumes is a day spent outdoors. The girl is slightly shorter and stouter than the boy, who is slightly stretched out and gangly, but they’re clearly twins. They have matching expressions of interest as they look her over. 

“Hullo, I’m Miss Walker,” she says awkwardly. Mrs. Kanata is already leaving, closing the door behind her. 

The children appraise her for only a moment. 

“Oh, you’re the new governess!” And the girl throws herself at Rey, wraps her chubby arms around Rey’s waist. Her face beams up angelically, her hair a soft brown bird’s nest. “I’m Karina Varens. I’m _so_ pleased to meet you. This is Harrison.” 

Rey has only a brief moment to register the last name _Varens_ (not _Solo_ , something to reflect on later) before taking in the boy’s proffered hand. He stands straight and looks her in the eye in a carefully-trained gesture of greeting.

“A pleasure, Miss Walker,” he says, and shakes firmly. 

So far so good. What was all the fuss about? 

Then she feels a cold sensation at the back of her mind. 

Karina is waving a hand in front of Rey’s face, all sweetness gone, replaced by a single icy command: “Take the pitcher and pour it over your head.”

Rey takes a step toward the wash basin, then another, ready to do as Karina says. 

_But why should you?_ And Rey suddenly has a few key thoughts.

First: she remembers reading about a Force technique that could compel others to do your bidding. 

Second: the same text mentioned certain Force-sensitive individuals could resist this technique. 

Third: she has a newfound suspicion of why the other fifteen governesses fled. 

Finally: she doesn’t _have_ to follow Karina’s command. In fact, she doesn’t feel like following at all. And, with a dog-shake of her head, she realizes her faculties are her own once more. 

“None of that. It doesn’t work,” Rey says, summoning the sternness of the most feared schoolmistress at Jakku. 

Karina’s jaw sets. “Take the water basin — “ 

But this time Rey is prepared, and with a slight adjustment in her mind, almost like swatting a fly, Karina’s command bounces off uselessly. “I told you,” she says calmly, “that won’t work on me. I’m very stubborn.” She can do this: in a battle of willpower rather than social niceties, Rey has never been known to lose. Even Jakku could not rob her of that. 

Now Harrison gets a look of concentration on his face. His eyes narrow. A pillow rises from the bed and launches itself towards Rey. She catches the downy projectile and throws it back in one swift motion. 

Karina huffs. She flings herself back on the bed, where she lies like a dejected starfish. “Do you even _like_ children?” she accuses. 

Rey isn’t sure what to say to _that_. Better to err toward telling the truth. “I cannot say. I like most of them well enough, I suppose. Some are better than others. Some are truly terrible.”

“Do you like us?” Karina’s eyes fix on the ceiling.

“I do. You tried to mind-control me. That was a clever trick, and very brave.” And to Rey’s astonishment, she finds she isn’t lying. She does like the twins, rumpled and a little grimey and doing everything they can to fight back. Maybe their ferocity reminds Rey of herself during her first years at Jakku. 

“We don’t believe you,” Harrison says firmly, glancing at Karina, who is sitting up again. 

At that, desperation rises in Rey. She needs this position. She wants to stay. She refuses to go back to Jakku. At the very least, teaching supernatural charges would never be dull. But unexpectedly, everything seems to rest on gaining the approval of these two children. 

“Look, I’m here and I’m staying.” She attempts to keep her voice firm. “Because I have nowhere else to go. And because I do like you both, I’m not lying, and with your powers I suspect you could tell if I were lying.” She’s speaking rapidly now, trying to stay calm. “You don’t want some other governess. I’m a first-rate governess. I won’t hit you, and we can study whatever topic you want. You won’t get a better deal from some other stodgy governess, I assure you. I come from a different school, not like the others.” 

A pause. The twins consider this. Rey can see them weighing her up. She stays still. Perhaps children are like feral cats: best not to press them or use sudden movements. 

“We like spiders,” Karina says airily. She waves one hand imperiously. 

“And mud and blood. Also graveyards.” Harrison adds, glaring at Rey. 

Rey doesn’t flinch as she gazes back. “Excellent study topics. We can start with those.” 

“You really won’t hit us?” Harrison asks. “Even if we keep getting the answer wrong?” 

“I will not. I got a ruler to the palm many times as a child. I didn’t care for it, and so I won’t do it to you, no matter how many mistakes you make.”

Harrison nods, then remembers something from her earlier speech. “You said you have nowhere else to go. So you won’t leave like the others?” 

“No. I will never leave,” Rey says fiercely. “I will never, ever leave.” A dangerous promise to make. Rey knows it the moment the words leave her lips: she has made a mistake. But she has always been impulsive, and surely a day would come when the twins would not _need_ their governess. 

The twins look at each other, features twitching slightly, as though they were both coming to a decision. Rey wonders if they can pass thoughts back and forth. 

“Well, that’s alright then,” Karina says finally. “It is our bedtime now.” They both crawl into bed. 

“Oh. Well. I suppose lessons begin tomorrow morning.” Rey considers making some gesture to tuck them in. She has no maternal models from which to draw. Perhaps a kiss on the forehead? That seems correct. But then Karina blows out the lamp, and Rey is plunged into darkness. 

**...**

Rey never professed to be a saint. So after she closes the door behind her, she stomps loudly down the hall, waits for a few moments, then returns on padded feet to press her ear to the door. At first, all is quiet and she thinks the twins must be asleep, but then: 

“I like her,” Harrison whispers.

Karina gives a small sigh. “I dunno. She could be lying.” 

“I don’t think she is,” Harrison insists. “But even if she is, we can just get rid of her later.” 

Karina seems mollified at that. “True. She knows a few tricks, but we can crack her if we need to.” 

“We should at least try to keep her for a bit, though. The last one was horribly boring, so if she’s better that’s good, isn’t it? Mr. Solo wouldn’t let us go without schooling forever. He’ll just find some worse one.” 

Rey hears the mattress shifting, as though indecision were causing Karina to toss. Then: “Fine. We can give her a go.” 

Rey pads back down the hall, grinning to herself. Judging by the whispers, Karina and Harrison cannot read each other's minds. They’re just children with some flashy powers and a flair for drama. 

But Rey also has “a few tricks.” And later, as she lies in her new bed in the yawning darkness, turning over the mystery of the house and the absent Mr. Solo and his children with a different surname, she decides she might turn out to be a very good governess. 


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, I made the mistake of re-reading Jane Eyre before writing this. So expect a lot of straight-from-Jane-Eyre plot points, and a couple of quotes. (No wife in the attic, though.)

**ii.**

As it turns out, Rey’s confidence in her skills as a governess was premature. 

The lesson starts well enough. She wakes up early and finds the study, a sunny room with a convenient table. At first, the floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked high with books overwhelm her, but then she finds a promising monograph — “Arachnids of Chandrila.” She pulls the volume aside and places it on the table alongside paper, some pencils, and the primers from her collection. 

The twins are polite but guarded as Mrs. Kanata ferries them in. Harrison grins as Rey presents the monograph, though Karina sniffs, unconvinced. Nevertheless, they do as instructed and begin to copy the spider illustration of their choice, using Rey's guidance to label its anatomy. 

But mathematics brings a new hitch to the forefront.

SAY THAT 70 PER CENT. OF A GROUP OF SOLDIERS HAVE LOST AN EYE—75 PER CENT. AN EAR—80 PER CENT. AN ARM—85 PER CENT. A LEG. WHAT PERCENTAGE, AT LEAST, MUST HAVE LOST ALL FOUR?

“That doesn’t have anything to do with spiders,” Karina protests, eyeing Rey suspiciously. 

“Harrison told me you were both interested in blood, did you not? I assumed such a battle would be of interest to you.” 

The twins begrudgingly pick up their pencils. 

Rey isn’t sure about their level of arithmetic knowledge, so she picked a difficult problem to test them. And it was the only one she could find on such a short notice that would cater to their morbid interests. They scribble for several minutes, Karina’s tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. Rey sneaks a glance at her page. She has drawn a caricature of a soldier with the appropriate missing eye, ear, and arm. Harrison seems to be faring little better, having reached a pause in his furious writing (numbers, at least), and now drumming his fingers on the table in agitation. 

Rey is about to admit defeat and lend them a hand when she notices something… not quite right about Harrison. His fingertips seem to become translucent, a strange energy stirring beneath his skin. Rey frowns. As she tries to get a closer look, Harrison suddenly shouts in frustration: 

“Who made up this problem? It’s too _hard_!” 

And a bolt of blue lightning arcs from Harrison’s fingers, missing Rey and hitting home directly behind her. She glances back in time to see an ornate brass lamp, base wreathed in cheerful cherubs, go up in smoke. 

“Harrison!” Rey exclaims, out of shock more than anything else. 

He flings his hands in a different direction, away from Rey and Karina. Another bolt of lightning hits a shelf, sending the books and bookends toppling. 

Karina has jumped to her feet, pleading with Rey: “He doesn’t mean to, Miss Walker! It just happens sometimes, to me too.” All prickliness has disappeared, her eyes wide and scared. 

Rey remembers Harrison's words: so you won’t leave like the others? She can manage this, she has to manage this. Not only for her position but for the twins’ sake. 

“Well, how do you usually stop it?” She keeps her voice low as she moves to the other side of the table next to Karina. 

“Mr. Solo says to take deep breaths, like this,” Karina says, breathing in and out. 

"Harrison, can you take deep breaths with Karina and me?" Rey kneels next to him and demonstrates. Beside her, Karina kneels too, practically hyperventilating in her eagerness to display calm meditation. 

Harrison tries to match Rey’s pace. For a few moments, she thinks the worst is over, but then blue lightning crackles down his arm again. "It isn’t working,” he says miserably. 

“Perhaps trying to stop it only makes it worse. So try to feel it instead. Feel it, then blow it out.” She is pulling at straws. But she used the same method as a child when her anger threatened to earn her another dinner-less evening. 

Rey isn’t sure whether her suggestion works. It takes several crackling minutes, by which point the episode may have wound down on its own, but slowly Harrison stops looking quite so blue and electric. 

Rey lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. If this is a frequent occurrence, she needs to start timing episodes. And keeping a diary of the conditions —is there a pattern to when the lightning occurs? Lost in thought, she doesn’t notice that Harrison has left her side. When she stands up, the children are staring at the melted lamp in horror. The brass cherub will not be flying off anytime soon. 

“Oh well, that was a hideous lamp,” Rey tries. 

“Mr. Solo will be angry,” Harrison says, eyes threatening to well with tears. 

“Nonsense, I’m sure he’ll be grateful you got rid of it for him,” Rey says hastily, attempting to ward off another lightning spell. "Perhaps an aunt with poor taste left it to him, and he feels obliged to keep it in his home without real affection for it. Now let’s clean up. We’ll not leave this for Mrs. Kanata.” 

A pleasant co-conspiracy fills the study as Rey and the twins pick up glass shards and gather singed books. Karina is unexpectedly pleasant, asking Rey how she should reshelve the books. Evidently, any governess who helps her brother earns her respect. 

“I know you can’t help the lightning,” Rey says after they all settled back at the table, “and I’m not angry. But we must keep from interrupting lessons. And I’m sure it can’t be a pleasant experience. Do you have a sense of what causes it?” 

Harrison and Karina look at each other, then look away. Harrison's fingers drum on the table as he focuses on the wood grain. Karina stares at her pencil as though she were trying to break it in two with the Force. 

“They didn’t happen so often,” Harrison says finally. “With mother. _Before_.” The last word hangs dense in the air like a cloud. 

Rey is about to probe this, but then Karina cuts in. “If it did happen, we would go into a shed in the garden,” she says quickly, as though practicalities could dissipate the mood. “There was nothing we could destroy in there. The walls did get scorched right up, though.”

“And Mr. Solo has suggestions for solving the issue?” Rey asks. She will get to the bottom of the twins’ origins, but not now. 

“He’s always telling us to close our eyes and breathe,” Karina complains. “He’s very fond of breathing, but we breathe all the time without thinking about it, even. It’s very boring.” 

“He must know a lot about the Force, though,” Harrison offers charitably. “We can kind of feel it. He probably can kill people with a blink.” 

‘Can kill people with the Force’ — another trait to add to her rapidly-expanding sketch of Mr. Solo, next to ‘aversion to home repair,’ ‘doesn’t give a fig for high society,’ and ‘has a fine library.’ A chill runs down her spine. She is grateful her employer has yet to make an appearance. But perhaps she shouldn’t pay too much mind to the interpretation of her young charges. 

“Well, if breathing doesn’t work much we’ll have to try something different,” Rey decides. “There are ways to control lightning, you know. Have you heard of lightning attractors? They put them on the roofs of churches to protect them from strikes.” 

“Is Force lightning the same kind you get during storms?” Karina asks doubtfully. 

“I don’t see why not. It’s just science,” Rey says with confidence she doesn’t quite feel. But the line of thought seems worth a try. “We’ll have to do our own research.”

…

The next few weeks with the twins pass in a flash. Not all days are successful ones — the twins have lightning spells every few days, sometimes at the same time, but at least she has managed to prevent loss of limb. Rey has taken to passing out toffee at every opportunity. The tactic cannot be good for the children’s dental health, but Rey has found that the shock of sugar and distraction of chewing can sometimes ward off a fit. And the twins are most enthusiastic about the technique. 

She adores the twins, but the atmosphere of the house still feels oppressive, and she is unused to so many people vying for her companionship. Rey begins to feel restless. Therefore, when Mrs. Kanata has a letter to take into town, she volunteers for the task. She sets out with a spring on her step, promising Karina and Harrison that she will try to find a guidebook to local graveyards for them. 

Night falls early at this time of year. But though the sky grows dim, the moon has begun to rise, lighting up the road for her. The world becomes ethereal as she walks through the woods and fields, even more so as a mist begins to form. 

Because of the mist, and because she is lost in her thoughts and the spell of the night, she doesn’t notice the strange rider until he is almost directly upon her. All Rey sees is a sudden flash of hooves and limbs: the horse has slipped on a patch of ice. 

Rey hears the rider swear loudly. He manages to extract himself from the rearing horse, which turns heels and trots to the end of the road. The stranger has landed near a boulder, which he reaches with a hop and a drag. Sitting down, he sets to examining his leg. Rey cannot be sure he has seen her. 

“Can I help you, sir?” Rey calls out, taking a few steps toward him. 

“No, I will be fine at present.” He attempts to stand again, does so successfully — and promptly topples as he takes a step. 

Rey should be on her way — night approaches, and she cannot help a person without their consent — but she hesitates. She takes another few steps towards the rider. 

"Sir, I cannot leave you alone and injured. Hanna Hall is but a few miles away — I have just come from there, and can quickly fetch help."

At this, he looks up as though seeing her for the first time. She gets a good look at his face. He has a shock of dark hair wild from riding, a strong nose, slightly over-large ears. Not the sort of face her peers at Jakku would have swooned over. And yet, the whole ensemble is not displeasing to her, and she bites her lip as his black eyes meet hers. 

“You come from Hanna Hall,” he states. 

“Yes, sir. Mr. Solo’s estate. I live there.” He must be familiar with the area. Rey cannot imagine anyone but a local passing through this remote stretch of the road. 

He gives her a sharp look, studying her openly now. “And there you are — ?” His eyes rove warily over her attire. Rey suspects that he cannot place her. She is not dressed like a servant, but her clothes are nowhere fine enough to belong to the lady of the house or even a lady’s maid. 

“The governess,” she supplies. 

Tension falls from his broad shoulders: her reply seems to satisfy him. “Ah yes, the governess. Of course. Well then, there’s no need to make the journey back on my behalf. Try and catch my horse’s bridle and lead him to me. If you are not afraid.” 

Rey is not afraid in the slightest, but as she approaches the horse, it stomps its feet, tosses its head, and in every way refuses to be led. She tries to ignore the stranger watching her struggle. After a few stubborn minutes, however, she has to admit defeat and goes back to where the man sits, her face flushed. 

He doesn’t remark on her failure, however. Instead, he acts as though they were both at a formal luncheon instead of stranded on a dirt road. “And how do you find your employer, Mr. Solo?”

“I have never laid eyes on him; he is often away on business,” Rey says. 

“But does Mr. Solo allow his governesses to traipse around the countryside alone?” 

“I assume like most employers he cares very little about what his governess does after hours, provided her conduct remains moral and above board.” 

“And is it?" But before she can answer, he has given the horse one last look, and risen gingerly to his feet. "Forgive me, necessity compels me to make you useful.” 

And leans against Rey, motioning at his ride. Rey feels his heat and solid weight through her cloak, and her mind goes blank. 

“Is what?” she says stupidly, suddenly remembering his question. They begin to limp together toward his horse. The wretched animal stands there placidly, as though perplexed by all the human fuss. 

“Is Mr. Solo’s governess’s conduct moral and above board?” 

_That_ snaps her out of the daze. “You are very forward for a stranger,” Rey says. “Particularly a stranger at the mercy of the young woman he is questioning.” She raises her shoulder a notch, just enough to remind him of his situation and perhaps his manners. 

But he is undeterred. “You cannot blame me for interrogating you,” he says, wincing as he puts weight on his leg. “As his neighbour, I’m merely looking out for Mr. Solo’s interests. Perhaps he is unaware his governess has a habit of felling travellers’ horses.” 

“What a generous neighbour you are, sir!” she says breathlessly. “I daresay you are a better neighbour than you are a rider.” A bit unkind, but he is very heavy, and Rey is beginning to regret being a good Samaritan — no matter how warm he feels next to her. 

But the stranger seems to find this amusing. “Please, madam. Surely I have suffered sufficient injury for one day.”

She focuses on her footing lest they trip on a loose stone. They both make it to the horse, and he manages to hoist himself up into the saddle. 

“Please inform Mr. Solo not to trouble himself over my doings,” she tells him impulsively as he readies to leave. “I am merely off to my witches coven for our monthly séance.” 

For the briefest moment, his eyes widen. But then, without a comment, he taps his heels against the horse’s side and rides off into the mist. And Rey goes into town, delivers the letter, congratulating herself on a witty quip and a good deed done. 

**...**

She only realizes her predicament when she arrives back at Hanna Hall. Karina and Harrison run out to greet her, eager to tell her that Mr. Solo arrived, but injured — Karina thinks sabre duel, Harrison thinks wolf attack — and Rey gets a sinking feeling in her stomach. 

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Kanata admonishes the twins, “he only fell off his horse and sprained his ankle. The doctor says he’ll be right as rain with a few days rest.” 

“He _would_ say that,” Karina says. “He probably has to keep his missions secret.” 

At that, Rey has to excuse herself, claiming a headache. She doesn’t know much about governess etiquette, but she suspects claiming to belong to a satanic order is poor form. She wonders if she can stay in her room forever. Perhaps she will melt into the walls of the house and no one will be the wiser.

**...**

Rey is spared at least one night: Mr. Solo is on bed rest as per the doctor’s recommendation. But on the second night, he is well enough to convene. To Rey’s mortification, Mrs. Kanata claims it is customary to spend the evening with him and the children in the parlor. 

She would always have to face her employer eventually. So she dresses in her second-best dress, the brown one, and decides to arrive fashionably late. Surely Mr. Solo will want to spend time alone with his children. Perhaps she can spend most of the evening in the corner doing her best impression of an armchair. 

When she slips into the parlor, she first thinks her plan has succeeded. They’re all grouped together next to the window: Karina sitting in the armchair next to Mr. Solo, Harrison standing. But then Rey realizes they’re talking about her. 

“We like Miss Walker,” Harrison is saying. “She is an excellent teacher.” His stance is stiff and formal. Despite all their talk of Mr. Solo’s daring exploits, she realizes the children are awkward and unsure in his presence. 

“Miss Walker? I suspect she may be a witch,” Mr. Solo declares, glancing up at Rey. 

At his comment, indignation moves Karina to speak, her wariness of Mr. Solo temporarily forgotten. “We’re not _babies_. We don’t believe in witches. Magic isn’t real.” 

“Karina, as I recall you moved candlesticks until Miss Binks declared she was receiving communications from the realm of the dead,” Mr. Solo reminds her. 

“The Force is different,” Karina shrugs. Then, in a burst of inspiration: “And Miss Binks was a real mug. I didn’t think she’d fall for it.” 

“We don’t call people ‘mugs’,” admonishes Rey from where she lurks near the door. She senses an opportunity to recover from the embarrassment of her initial meeting with Mr. Solo by displaying her skills as a governess. 

“Don’t worry, Miss Walker, she’s not insulting, just describing — Miss Binks was factually very dim,” Harrison says earnestly. 

Before Rey can respond, Mr. Solo cuts in. “Miss Binks was a governess of strong moral fibre, and her new pupils feel lucky to have her,” he says sternly. “Now off with you. I must interview Miss Walker.” 

The twins make their way out of the parlor, dragging their feet and looking at Rey reproachfully, as though she were responsible for cancelling Christmas. As the door closes behind them, she hears shuffling and heated whispers as the twins fight over who gets to look through the keyhole. 

“No listening in,” Rey calls, keenly aware of her own hypocrisy. She sighs. The children really need to learn to be more subtle. 

And then she is alone with Mr. Solo. He still sits at the other end of the room, bandaged ankle elevated, watching her. Her mouth goes dry; she licks her lips. 

He stays silent as she launches into a frenzied apology: “Sir, I know you must want my resignation, and I can have my bags packed as soon as —” 

“Your resignation?” he interrupts. “Do you wish to leave my service?” He gives her the same sharp look as he did on the road. 

“Well, I assume I am no longer welcome,” Rey says, wringing her hands nervously. “For calling into question your riding abilities as you sat injured. And the whole séance business.” 

“Miss Walker, are you capable of understanding instruction?” 

His voice is _very_ deep. She swallows. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Then you will no doubt recall that, only moments before our current conversation, I declared I was ready to evaluate you,” he drawls. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Does that sound like I’m interested in letting you resign?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Then please permit me, Miss Walker, to form my own opinion of your character through the ancient art of the interview. They say it is a good method for determining employment suitability. If I find you lacking, then, and only then, may you pack your bags. Sit." He indicates the armchair next to him previously occupied by Karina. 

She crosses the room and does as she’s told, folding her hands in her lap and sitting as straight as possible.

He sits back in his seat, as though to better take her in completely. “You come from the Jakku Institute. How long were you there?” 

"From the age of nine, sir."

"And now you are...?" 

"Twenty-one, sir." 

“Twelve years!” he exclaims. “That would explain the séances — I doubt any human could spend so many years there and come out completely sane. Did you enjoy your time as a pupil?” 

His reference to her “less polished” pedigree, and their disastrous first meeting, puts Rey on edge. She is therefore unusually forthright. “I did not,” she says. “Though I suspect, given your own assessment of the place, you are well-aware of its conditions.” A pause. Mr. Solo raises a single eyebrow. "Sir," she adds hastily. 

“Mrs. Kanata says you have been adept at handling the twins’ unique temperament.” 

Another long silence. Rey isn’t used to compliments, especially delivered through a third party whose gaze makes her feel like a specimen under a microscope. “Is that a question, sir?” she ventures. 

“Do you agree with her assessment?” he prompts. 

“The children and I have reached an understanding. Despite a few incidents, they have been model pupils and are quick learners.” Despite herself, she feels a need to shield Karina and Harrison. She prays he will not mention the missing lamp. 

“‘A few incidents’ — you are quite the diplomat, Miss Walker. Nevertheless, I have seen they have made progress. Particularly in the field of arachnology.” Rey opens her mouth, ready to justify her curriculum, but he has already moved on. “If you stay, Karina and Harrison would receive Force instruction from me in the morning as long as I am here.” 

“In the morning?” Rey frowns. “That will leave them entirely drained by the afternoon, completely unable to concentrate on mathematics.” 

“I would prefer the morning,” he says, blinking like a man unused to defiance. But Rey is determined not to disturb the fragile stability she’s built with the twins. 

“Furthermore,” she continues, “they are now accustomed to academics in the morning, and children grow best with consistency whenever possible.” 

“Is that your professional opinion as an instructor?” He leans forward. 

Is he making a game of her recommendation? She can’t detect any humour in his gaze, but he is a hard man to read. “It is, sir.”

“Fine, the afternoon,” he waves his hand as though the decision holds little import. “Excuse me, Miss Walker, but I’m afraid I must do this.” And before she can ask him what he means, he is inside her mind. 

He works masterfully, nothing like the twins’ blunt force. Rey feels no pain, but she’s helpless to resist. She is a bystander, standing next to herself as he rifles through her memories. Nothing indecent. Rey arriving at the inn and asking for Hanna Hall. Rey receiving a letter from Mrs. Kanata, placing an advertisement in the newspaper. _That’s enough_ , she thinks, but he goes still further: Rey taking over the teaching of the younger students, Rey at fourteen reciting from the Bible… 

He approaches a different spot in her mind, tender and painful, her earliest years at Jakku, Rose laughing at a face Rey pulls at the headmaster, Rose showing her the best hiding places, Rose… 

_No_ , she thinks stubbornly, _not that memory, that’s not for you…_ she flails desperately, shoving back as hard as she can. And then she is in a different place, not her own mind, somewhere completely alien. 

_An all-consuming volcanic rage. Blood pumping in the ears. Heat pouring off stone. The smell of smoke and iron._

_A voice, a woman’s, shouting: “Ben! BEN!”_

_And then a sharp pain, horror rising like a bile in the throat…_

_The cold darkness is almost comforting after the unbearable heat and smoke. But also lonely. So lonely. The night is dead and starless. The branches of the trees crawl into the house. “Rise…”_

And Rey falls out of the vision, his memories. She jerks back to the study, gaze blurred with tears. Her fingers grip the arms of the chair to steady herself. The fabric feels rough and real, for which she is grateful. She thinks she feels the slightest touch of skin against her little finger. Is that Mr. Solo? Slowly, her vision swims back into focus. She is calm again. 

“I can see where the children get their bad habits,” she says to diffuse the tension. Mr. Solo looks out the window into the growing night, refusing to meet her gaze. His knuckles are white as he grips his armchair, body tilted as far back from her as possible. She must have imagined his hand glancing hers. 

“The assessment is over, Miss Walker. You can stay, provided the twins continue to show adequate learning. And provided you can continue to handle them. You’re dismissed.” His eyes don’t leave the window. 

Relief floods through Rey. She can forgive him for toying with her during their first meeting, forgive him for looking into her mind. She will forget everything she saw in his memories — she can stay, she can stay. “Thank you, sir.” She gets up and turns to leave, tears forgotten, biting back a smile. 

“Oh, and a word of advice, Miss Walker.” She turns around. He has leaned back toward her, body and hands now relaxed, though he gazes at a point past her shoulder. “You may wish to gentle your tongue when speaking to your employer. I may have as many ‘bad habits’ as I please.” 

Rey has always had a rebellious vein. She thought she had mastered her own wildness as a child at Jakku. But Mr. Solo has a way of bringing the wellspring back to the surface, like he did back on the road, leaning on her shoulder, and like he does now. He must have some power over her, even beyond that of her employer. Or her glimpse into his mind disturbed the social order, so she no longer finds his authority absolute. That can be the only explanation for the thought that leaps to her mind, mentally shouted, in case he listens in with the Force: 

_‘Gentle my tongue’? Not bloody likely._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**  
> [Chandrila](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Chandrila)  
> I spent way too much time trying to research Victorian math education. The morbid word problem is from Lewis Carrol’s [“A Tangled Tale.” ](https://www.gutenberg.org/files/29042/29042-h/29042-h.htm)Probably not an age-appropriate math problem, but I guess that would explain why Harrison was so frustrated.


	3. iii

**iii.**

Harrison and Karina have had no lightning fits since Mr. Solo’s arrival.

The twins look forward to the afternoons and evenings in his presence. They speak of nothing but him: they speculate on Mr. Solo's business, they argue about Mr. Solo's Force teaching methods. Harrison starts refusing to use his limbs, instead levitating even pencils from the opposite end of the table. And despite her previous complaints about “breathing,” Karina nearly punches her brother at his suggestion that he can stay perfectly still longer than her.

But after a few days, the doctor pronounces Mr. Solo’s ankle cured. Which brings the unspoken prospect of him leaving. Which makes the twins grow restless again.

Rey won’t risk the indoor heirlooms under Mr. Solo’s watch, and the weather is still too cold for lessons outdoors. So they convene in Mr. Mitaka’s greenhouse: a long structure at the back of the Hall packed with lettuce through the winter. Nothing so grand as a formal conservatory, but warmed by the sun.

The three of them sit nestled among the wheelbarrows and trowels, wrapped in blankets, books on their knees, their breaths fogging the windows. Rey tries to sneak in history by having Karina and Harrison draft epitaphs for important figures. On cue, the twins glare and grumble. But they just want to make clear they are not fooled by her tricks, and are soon reading quietly under her supervision.

They are so well-behaved that she doesn’t notice Harrison glowing blue until it is far too late. Rey is reading one of her primers, trying to find a lesson to suit the twins’ narrow subject briefs, when she hears a yelp from Karina.

“ _Stop it_!” Karina exclaims, as though Harrison has stuck her with a pin. Rey looks up in time to see the smallest zap of static pass from sister to brother. Karina gulps as she too notices Harrison’s condition.

As is customary during these crises, Rey assumes the cool demeanor of a banker.

“Karina,” she says, “could you fetch —“ but the zap has made Karina shimmer ominously herself. Her braid bristles like an angry cat’s tail.

"Oh _drat_ ," Rey says, biting back the urge to teach the children a new curse. “Here, Karina, see if you can unwrap your own while I tend to Harrison.”

She produces two toffees from her pocket and shoves one towards Karina, who takes it quickly. At this stage, Harrison is incapable of touching anything without sending it up in smoke. So Rey unwraps his toffee for him and sticks it gingerly into his open mouth. He closes his eyes, trying to focus.

But despite their joint efforts, the twins are turning increasingly blue. The very air in the greenhouse begins to glow and crackle. A bolt of lightning hits her feet, covering them all with dirt.

Rey scans the greenhouse for anything useful. _Rubber_ , she thinks, grabbing a pair of mud boots left next to the door, running back to stick them on Harrison’s hands. That might keep him from wreaking further havoc, though they look ridiculous. She wonders at the price of all-rubber outfits for the children as she grabs a pair of thick gardening gloves, hoping they might help Karina.

But before she pulls them on, a loud bang fills the air — the panes rattle — Rey at first thinks Karina has struck through the glass in her fit, and she prays that the damage is minor, glass must be costly — but instead, it is Mr. Solo, who has slammed the door open in his urgency.

Rey only has a few moments to wonder how he knew. Was he watching the greenhouse from the window? Could he sense the twins’ distress through the Force? He came quickly, he has not even stopped to change out of his house coat. But then he’s swooping next to her, kneeling next to the children, one hand on each of the twin’s shoulders, face twisted in exertion.

Rey can feel the shift in the air, like the shift after a rainstorm. He must be making some alteration in the Force to help them along.

And indeed, the twins settle back into their normal hue. Rey lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Perhaps the fragile glasshouse had not _quite_ been the best choice. And she would have been loath to tell Mitaka that the twins incinerated all his precious greens.

She looks over the children, patting their limbs. Both are unscathed, as usual. The fits never affect them physically. A small mercy.

“Sorry, Miss Walker,” Karina says sadly, still speaking through a sticky mouthful as Rey attempts to tidy up her braid. “I was chewing as hard as I could but I don’t think it worked this time...”

“I finished mine,” points out Harrison dolefully, dropping the boots off his hands. He got the worst of the dirt. He looks like a chimney sweep.

“I’m sure you both did your best. It isn’t a perfect system.” Rey sighs, standing up. She’ll inspect her dress later, when the children aren’t looking. She may have to repair a singed hem.

Rey is about to attempt to resume the lesson despite the setback. But Mr. Solo has stood up and is watching Karina intently. And he looks none too happy.

“Thank you for your aid, sir,” she says cheerfully, but he ignores her. He looms too large for the space, his head nearly brushing the roof.

“What,” he says quietly to Karina, in a tone that betrays no anger but seems all the colder for it, “do you have in your mouth?”

For the first time, it occurs to Rey that perhaps Mr. Solo, with his strict devotion to ‘breathing,’ would not approve of turning his children into guinea pigs.

“Sir, that’s my fault —” Rey begins, but Mr. Solo holds up a finger to silence her, eyes still fixed on Karina.

Karina guiltily unclenches the hand that holds the wrapper, spits the candy into her palm. She holds up the whole sticky package up for Mr. Solo. He leans down, examining the offering as though it were a poisonous beetle. Then he rights himself, frowning.

“No more academics today. Go back into the house and get cleaned up.” He turns his gaze toward Rey. “Miss Walker, can I speak to you for a moment?”

For the second time, the children are dismissed on her account. This time, however, they seem relieved to be banished, though without the usual spring in their step that would normally accompany a break in schooling. Their episodes always leave a wave of agitation in their wake.

Rey is alone with Mr. Solo again. The greenhouse suddenly feels too small, too hot.

“Explain,” he commands.

Rey takes a breath. “I’ve been experimenting with different ways of helping the children through their fits. That was one of the experimental methods.”

He looks at her in disbelief. “You keep my children from destroying the estate...” he says slowly, “by giving them lozenges.”

“Toffee, sir,” Rey corrects. “Sometimes humbugs.”

“The specifics of the candy,” he says, exhaling hard through his nose, “do not interest me.”

“Sir, I have found the method fairly effective.”

“Have you,” he deadpans.

“You can read my notes,” she says, undeterred. “I have been most meticulous: I believe sweets distract them out of their fits and can sometimes even reduce the duration and intensity of their symptoms.”

“Miss Walker, I expect my children to learn to control the Force using their own faculties, not cheap parlour tricks.“ And he turns on his heels and begins to walk out the door, dress coat whipping up behind him.

“But sir — “ she protests, following behind, irritated at how she must hike up her skirts and half-run to keep up with his broad strides.

“They can continue meditative exercises, as I have demonstrated to them.” He maintains his fast pace down the gravel pathway towards the house.

She overtakes him, turning to face him. She won’t let him walk away so easily. She will _make_ him understand. “But surely, if there were a way to prevent — “

“Miss Walker, I insist —” he says, attempting to move around her, but she blocks him.

“Can’t you see it distresses them?” Rey demands, eyes flashing. “They hate the episodes — I’ve caught Harrison crying afterwards when he thinks I’m not looking, and Karina always claims a headache, but I know it’s because she wants to be alone to wallow.”

“You presume to tell me about my own — “

“They are not my children, and I know nothing about the Force, it is true. But your _meditative exercises_ aren’t enough, your children are suffering, and if I can do something about it, I damn well will!”

They’ve both stopped. She has crossed the small space between them in her anger, glaring up at him. Even through her fury, she is keenly aware that the last time they stood so close, he was leaning against her as they hobbled toward his horse. But even then he had been in profile, and she has never gazed into his face. He has a mole next to his fine nose. How had she missed that?

“Has it ever occurred to you, Miss Walker, that my own introduction to the Force was not untroubled?” he says through clenched teeth. “That I know what it feels like to have it simmer under the skin before coming out?”

A hot energy pours off him. Rey remembers her glimpse into his mind.

Like standing too close to the hearth. No — like standing at the edge of a volcano.

Rey should be frightened. But instead, she doesn't break her gaze. He's angry, but she's stubborn. She has the ridiculous urge to take another toffee out of her pocket, place it on his full lips…

Maybe the children aren't the only ones that need tending.

“Nevertheless,” he says, taking in a breath, “I did not know it was as bad as all that.” He steps back, and the noise of the gravel breaks the tension.

“You know nothing about the Force, that much is true.” Rey opens her mouth, but he has not finished. “Perhaps it is time you honed your sensitivity, for the children. You need a teacher.”

She stands frozen on the path, stunned. He brushes past her, moving toward the house again.

“We’ll meet here tomorrow morning at dawn,” she hears him say behind her. “We may get in an hour before the children’s lessons.”

Well. In all the ways she had imagined the conversation going, she had never expected _this_.

**…**

Rain is Hanna Hall’s constant companion. Usually, the sound lulls Rey to sleep, but tonight she lies awake, listening to the patter on the window panes. Considering the prospect of Force lessons.

How she had longed for them as a child at the Jakku Institute! True knowledge of the Force seemed an impossibility then, a secret allowed only to the wealthy and well-connected. And now Mr. Solo was offering to teach her.

She shifts restlessly on the mattress. She had grown accustomed to her position in the household, before Mr. Solo unmoored her.

Before leaving Jakku, she had borrowed several books on governessing from a teacher there. To be a governess, she learned, was not only to be a teacher, but also to occupy a precarious state. A governess might not be invited to interact with the family. Even if a governess were invited, she should sit quietly and unobtrusively, so that she would not draw attention to herself. She had managed well enough with Mrs. Kanata, who was kind but did not expect chatter from Rey. And at any rate, Mrs. Kanata was not the owner of the estate. But Mr. Solo...

In his presence, she became starkly visible. She did her best in the evenings, claiming a corner with a book while he spoke with Mrs. Kanata or the twins. But in direct interactions, she could not be quiet despite her best efforts. Something about him triggered a reaction deep in her veins. As though he filled the air with an almost physical, flowing substance. Whether the substance is a balm or poison, she could not be certain.

What a strange man he was! He seemed to reward her defiance again and again. Giving her the position. Offering to instruct her in the Force, even if for the children’s benefit.

A passage from one of her books, _Letters to a Young Governess_ , floats to the top of her mind:

> _If there are young men in the family where you reside, remember that your carriage will generally govern theirs; they will not presume, if you are discreet and unpretending._

Her thoughts turn rebellious: who would hold them to social norms here? Mr. Solo has no other family to her knowledge. He receives no letters, hosts no friendly visitors. They are miles from the nearest neighbours. The residents of Hanna Hall move in a separate orbit, almost outside of time and space.

She still will not name the social norm she wishes to violate. Not even to herself. Not even as she drifts to sleep.

But nothing about Mr. Solo makes Rey wish to be ‘discreet.’

...

True to his word, Mr. Solo waits for her at dawn behind the house. She wears her cloak on the suspicion the lesson will take place outdoors. She turns out to be correct, as Mr. Solo leads her down a rough overgrown trail, barely visible amongst the weeds and in the slowly-brightening light.

“So, shall we perhaps start with levitating pebbles?” she asks as they walk. Rey practically bounces on her heels.

“Hardly, Miss Walker,” he snorts. “A reckless life of witchcraft hardly qualifies you for expedited lessons. You must start with the basics.”

In a few minutes, they reach a small clearing. A raised wooden platform sits in the middle, worn with age, large enough for two humans to sit side-by-side. Mr. Solo gestures to it. “Sit here. Cross-legged.”

Rey does as instructed. Her limbs are unused to assuming this position, and she feels gangly and awkward. He moves to stand next to the platform, examining her form.

“Back straight.” He says, and she jumps as he places his large hand at her spine unexpectedly. But his motion is brief, almost clinical. It is over in an instant. She tamps down her vague disappointment.

“Now, close your eyes. Focus on the Force.”

Rey has done this before, as a child. She would scamper onto the roof of the townhome, lay on her back, watching the soot rise from the smokestacks. She would try to count the pigeons with her eyes closed. But her parents never approved of her use of the Force. If they caught her, they accused her of vanity. Of giving herself consequence she did not possess. And of course, the headmaster at Jakku had no use for the Force. And so she locked it away.

“What do you feel?”

Tapping into the Force again was like regaining her vision after blindness. She could feel so much. “The birds. The trees. The sap running through them. Worms moving through the dirt. Wind. The cold the wind carries. And heat. The sun starting to heat the rocks.”

(Blood pulsing. Heartbeats. A thread of connection passing through her. Reaching toward him. Twisting back to the house where the twins are still sleeping. But that seems too intimate to mention.)

“Good. Now carrying on doing that for the next hour.”

She opens a single eye. He stands in front of her now, looking down from his infuriatingly great height, simultaneously serious and smug. “You cannot be serious, sir.”

“You should feel fortunate, Miss Walker." A half-ghost of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. "In ancient times, Force apprentices would perform tedious tasks for their masters. Perhaps I should have you cut the lawn with a pair of sewing scissors.”

She closes her eyes again. But instead of meditating, Rey’s thoughts wander. She pictures herself on her hands and knees on the lawn. A model apprentice clipping blade after blade. Mr. Solo would survey her work from behind, his eyes moving down her neck, her back…

Why does that make her stomach swoop?

She fervently hopes he isn’t reading her mind.

Is that his breath on her ear? Why must he stand so close?

“ _Concentrate_ ,” she hears him say.

She swallows. But like a good pupil, she does as told.

...

“Miss Walker, you must keep Mr. Solo company,” Mrs. Kanata calls to Rey, who has settled in her usual corner with a book. “We’ve spent so many evenings in each other's company that we can no longer entertain each other. A new personality will do him good.”

She winks at Rey, and moves to supervise Karina and Harrison. The twins sit on the floor, assembling a puzzle with a zeal usually reserved for street fights as they argue over whether a piece fits.

Rey flushes. She feels no small trepidation at being the “entertainment” for the evening. But she is determined not to show it as she strides over to where Mr. Solo sits in his customary spot, and plops herself into the adjacent armchair.

As she glances at his broad hands draped over the arms of the chair, Rey is pulled back to that morning. His palm repositioning her. His low voice close to her ear…

Mr. Solo clears his throat, pulling her back to reality. “Please, do not feel the need to sit here on my behalf,” he says. “Mrs. Kanata can be unnecessarily… forceful.”

She should take him up on his offer, go back to her book. But as usual, her tongue betrays her: “No, I still have much to learn about being a governess, and if pleasant evening conversation is part of the position, I will strive to provide it.”

“It isn’t,” he says. “Part of the position.”

He clearly doesn’t want her there. She is no doubt too undereducated, too mousey, too uncouth to interest him.

From _Letters to a Young Governess_ :

> _The conversation of the well-bred and well-informed is always agreeable; but in your position, too great freedom, even in this indulgence, may be prejudicial to you._

From Rey, who suddenly wants nothing more than for Mr. Solo to find her witty: “Perhaps you find my conversation boring, sir. I fear I am only capable of talking about the weather.”

“And how has that been?” His eyes glow; he can tell she is setting up a quip.

“I’ve noticed an abnormal amount of mist in the area,” she says as seriously as she can muster. “Perhaps it follows you, sir?”

“I had assumed _you_ had conjured it,” he retorts.

“No, I assure you, when you are gone Hanna Hall is positively tropical. I have seen several blue Morphos in the area.”

“Then perhaps my disturbance of the local ecosystem merits shorter visits,” he says. A hint of vulnerability hides in the joke, and Rey is about to protest, but he swiftly moves on: “I believe I owe you an apology, Miss Walker.”

“Oh?” Her wit abandons her. She isn’t sure how to reply.

“I never should have pretended I was not the gentleman of Hanna Hall when we first met,” he confesses. “In truth, you appeared so suddenly, claiming to live at my estate, and I was suspicious of you. To entrust someone with my children...”

“Don’t speak of it, sir,” Rey says firmly. “You protect them. That’s an admirable trait in a guardian.”

“It is only my duty.” He shrugs.

“Not everyone would see it that way,” says Rey, thinking of her own parents, who could stand her so little they abandoned her to Jakku. Luckily, the twins voices rise, interrupting her dark thoughts.

“You’re _cheating,_ Harrison!” Karina exclaims, her voice raised even beyond its usual carrying tone. Rey decides not to inquire how one can cheat at puzzles.

Harrison grins. He calls over to Rey, waving a piece of blue sky. “You should join us, Miss Walker!”

“No,” Rey sniffs, turning to look at them. “I am far too good at puzzles. I would finish in a snap, and then what would you do to occupy your time?”

“Come now, leave your poor governess to relax for one evening,” Mrs. Kanata admonishes. The twins go back to their loud debates.

When Rey turns back, she sees Mr. Solo has been examining her profile. “They have a fondness for you,” he says softly, so the twins won’t overhear. “I see the ease with which they speak to you.”

“I am just _here_ ,” Rey says, then instantly regrets it. He cannot help his business. “But they do admire you, sir,” she adds swiftly and truthfully. “They seem to think you traipse around as a masked Force vigilante. Karina speculated that you must have at least twenty women vying for your affections.”

He smiles then, a genuine smile. “I thought perhaps they resent me,” he says sheepishly. “For taking them away from their home.” His tone grows serious. “But by the time their aunt wrote to me, their mother’s apartment had been leased, and I did not think it wise to move to London.”

He continues, speaking rapidly, as though he has a vital need to tell Rey the story. “I did not know of their existence until their aunt’s letter. She had too many children, and with their fits, she felt she could not keep them…” He falls silent again.

Rey glances at the twins, who pay no attention to them. “Sir, if I might inquire — what of their mother?”

“Dead,” he says simply.

“I’m sorry,” Rey says. She must have been beautiful, to attract such a man.

“I only knew her… briefly,” he confesses. “But by all accounts, she was a fine woman.”

They both watch Karina and Harrison place the last piece on a particularly tricky wheatfield.

“What of your family, Miss Walker?”

“Also dead,” Rey says. That isn’t strictly true, but it prevents painful questions. “The children are lucky to have you,” she ventures shyly. “To not be alone.”

His dark eyes gaze into hers. Her pulse quickens. “I could say the same to you.”

…

A week passes. Rey is a quick learner in the Force, to her glee. Surely she will be uprooting trees from the ground in a fortnight, no matter what her surly teacher says.

But then, one morning, she awakens to the twins banging at her door. Mr. Solo has left in the dead of the night. Even Mrs. Kanata did not notice his departure.

He left without saying goodbye. Rey’s chest feels odd. Tight.

The twins begin to run blue in the hallway, still standing in their nightclothes. Lightning flickers at their fingertips, licks up the skin of their arms. But this time, Rey can feel their distress in the Force.

And she knows how to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who kudos'd and commented! It always makes my day. 
> 
> If you don't have an AO3 account but still want to get updates, my twitter is @sparrowshift.
> 
> **  
> References  
>  ** [Letters to a Yo _ung Governess_](https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=njp.32101065979617&view=1up&seq=5)  
>  [Humbugs](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Humbug_\(sweet\))


	4. iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fic business: 
> 
> 1\. Chapter count has been upped. Some scenes are longer than planned! 
> 
> 2\. I've improved the tags and warnings. Of note, I’ve added a “death of a child” tag, which refers to someone from Rey's childhood (NOT KARINA OR HARRISON I WOULD NEVER DO THAT OMG). Basically, for the Jane Eyre fans: a certain Star Wars character will take the role of Helen Burns. There was a very faint hint of this in chapter 1. Her death scene will not be described in-depth, but Rey will talk about it and how it affected her. I’m very sorry for missing this when first tagging the fic! I'll mention it again in the intro to the chapter where we really get into it.

**iv.**

By the third day, Harrison and Karina are still so distressed, and have worn Mrs. Kanata so ragged, that Rey decides to let them sleep in the bed with her. Just for one night. They are not to make a habit of this, or so she tells them.

The twins seize the occasion to request coddling beyond their wildest fancies. Rey rejects several proposals. Pudding in bed. Karina’s pet spider in bed. Attempting to summon a fairy at midnight using a method Harrison read about in a book, despite their scepticism of magic. (“Only the very smallest drop of blood, Miss Walker! And a saucer of milk”).

She does, however, concede to tell them one ghost-story. Rey is a terrible storyteller, and she knows it. She makes the cast of characters too large, which makes her lose the plot. Worse, she suspects her charges are not at all unnerved. She hastily throws in a headless man hunting for his killer, to no avail. Thankfully, the twins are in a charitable mood, and declare her story “not a bad job,” though they recommend more visceral descriptions.

When the story and the review conclude, Karina turns off the lamp. Rey settles between Karina and Harrison, giving each a squeeze of the shoulders. She pulls the quilt over.

It becomes easier over time, Rey reflects. Understanding how to be close to them. The twins won’t cling to her — they are not that sort of children. But each one touches a single foot to her side as though for reassurance. In the darkness and warmth of the bed, they all become contemplative. Neither child is ready to sleep quite yet.

“Do you ever miss anyone? From your old school?” Harrison whispers.

“Sometimes,” Rey says. While she certainly does not miss the director Mr. Plutt, some of the teachers were kind to her. “But I am happy to be with you and Karina and Mrs. Kanata,” she continues. “And there is no shame in missing people. It only makes seeing them again even better.”

“But what if they don’t come back?” Karina’s voice is small in the dark. “What if they _can’t_?”

At first, Rey assumes they’re both referring to their guardian. She is about to reassure them: anyone they cherish will come back. But then she realizes they may not be speaking of Mr. Solo at all.

She thinks of their fine mother.

She thinks of Rose during the most boring classes, first drawing, then nudging Rey with the end of her slate pencil.

“Remembering is a sort of visiting, in a way,” Rey says quietly, as much to herself as the children. “Visiting with the person in your head.”

And then, for further reassurance as they drift off to sleep: “But as for Mr. Solo: I promise you, he will be back.”

And if he doesn’t, Rey will find him and drag him home.

...

_Rey is still lying in bed, flat on her back._

_But in her dream, a window opens on the ceiling._

_It doesn’t show the night sky above Hanna Hall. Instead, Rey gazes up into a cityscape. A street. She can make out gas lamps, the halos they make in the gloom. The clopping of horses’ hooves on cobblestone. Strangers moving through in shifting shadows._

_The window widens, falls towards the bed until it surrounds her._

_Rey stands inside the scene now, the cobblestones firm under her feet. To her alarm, she is still in her nightdress_. It’s just a dream, _she has to remind herself. Though never has any dream felt so physical. Cold night air raises goose flesh on her skin. She can_ smell _the city: soot, sweat, rotting debris._

_At any rate, even in the world of sleep, the passersby pay her no mind. They don’t seem to see her at all._

_Then, out of the corner of her eye, she glimpses a figure._

_She knows it’s him even before he comes clearly into focus, even when his back is turned. The way he walks, his every movement, have imprinted in her mind. Funny how that works, the ability to immediately pick a now-familiar body out of a crowd, even in the night._

_Mr. Solo doesn’t see her, of course. He stops to knock on a door at the end of the street, waiting impatiently, rapping louder with his knuckles when no one answers._

_Rey makes no noise, no gesture, but suddenly he goes stock-still, as though sensing some strange spirit. He turns his head towards her. Their eyes meet across the vast gulf of the block._

_“Rey,” he gasps. Despite the distance, his voice sounds close to her ear. And the dream goes dark, like a candle being snuffed._

…

A week passes, then another. Lessons continue. The twins have their occasional fits, though with some relief from Rey. The world shivers with the promise of spring, still-distant, but starting to become visible on the horizon.

And then Mr. Solo returns.

…

He comes bearing gifts, much to Karina and Harrison’s delight and Rey’s scepticism.

Microscopes are all the rage now, and apparently, this is one trend Mr. Solo is willing to indulge. At least when it comes to his children and their interests in forensics. But all Rey can see when she looks at the case is the children, rippling with lightning after his abrupt departure. The gift can bring her no pleasure.

The twins, of course, are too young and too thrilled at his return to bear grudges. They practically climb on top of the study's table. They immediately go to work removing the microscope from its case, exclaiming over the brass and bits.

“Did you bring Miss Walker a present?” Harrison asks, remembering his governess.

“Does Miss Walker enjoy presents?” Mr. Solo is standing next to Harrison. He looks over to the corner where Rey stands, biting her tongue.

“I suppose it depends on the present, and the intention of the giver," Rey says. "A present given without expectations of the recipient is a fine thing.”

Mr. Solo narrows his eyes suspiciously. Apparently, her reply was not as innocent as she tried to make it.

“We need something to look at,” Harrison declares. Rey is grateful for the interruption, but it doesn't last.

"Oh! I know!" Karina exclaims, then runs out of the room with Harrison at her heels. Rey wonders if she should follow them to make sure they won't commit mischief for the sake of science, but they are already running down the stairs. If she left now, he would know she was avoiding him.

So instead she pretends to find the carpet fascinating as Mr. Solo gazes at her. If she looks at him, she knows she’ll lose her temper. “You are angry with me,” he states.

“I am merely the governess, sir. I would not presume to feel anger toward my employer.” A little bitter, yes, but surely he could not fault her for that statement. And why should he care, if she is angry at him?

“Miss Walker, you have done nothing but presume since entering my home,” he says, without resentment. “If I have offended, please tell me the nature of my offence.”

She looks up sharply, answering with a question: “What sort of business do you do, sir?”

He looks taken aback at that: his eyebrows rise a fraction, his mouth tightens. But then his features rearrange themselves into loose detachment. “It’s quite boring. I wouldn’t want to trouble my dearest governess over the proceedings.”

“So boring you were forced to flee in the dead of night,” she shoots back.

“It would frighten you to know how very urgent paperwork becomes in modern society,” he says lightly. But Rey’s jaw is still clenched. He sighs, relenting: “I thought perhaps it would be easier. On the children.”

“It was not,” she says stiffly. “And no quantity of microscopes can compensate for that.”

“It would be better for them,” he says slowly, “to not become attached to me. Given my... ‘bad habits.’”

“Perhaps so, sir," Rey concedes. She will not contradict him. "And yet, they have become attached. As children will do. You cannot discard them at whim.”

“Then I will not leave in such a manner again. I give you my word.”

He says it so simply, as though the matter were easy to resolve. She nods, letting out some of the tension in her shoulders. For now, all she can go off is promises. And maybe it is his serious expression or the warmth she feels in the Force, but she trusts him. Perhaps beyond all rationality.

They stand in silence for several minutes, but somehow Rey doesn’t feel awkward. In fact, she becomes increasingly comfortable. Now she can feel happy he is back. Like a tiny flame in her stomach.

Her thoughts drift back to his phrase, ignored in her anger: "my dearest governess." She smiles despite herself.

“We keep all our baby teeth!” Karina bursts into the study, waving a small drawstring purse triumphantly. “And we also have a moth.” She points at Harrison, who is cradling the insect in his hands.

“We didn’t kill it, it was already dead,” Harrison adds.

They crowd around the desk, pouring over the book and cautiously fiddling with the microscope. Mr. Solo goes over to help, and they have it assembled in surprisingly short order.

In one way, Rey decides the microscope is an excellent present. When Mr. Solo is occupied at the eyepiece, she can watch him without being observed in turn. Her eyes run hungrily down the slope of his nose, linger on his lips, fix on his large fingers adjusting the dials.

But when she takes her turn to look, it occurs to her he might be doing the same. Observing. She tries to focus on the magnified moth’s wing, like a lizard’s scales or the sections of a leaf. Remarkable, really. But she can still feel a flush creeping up her traitorous neck. After a minute (long enough to prevent suspicion), she rights herself, looks over at him.

And he _has_ been watching.

“Could you see it?” he asks. Of course: he was just making sure she could use the instrument.

“Yes,” she says, clearing her throat, feeling like a fool. “Science is indeed marvellous.”

**…**

She does not confirm that their Force lessons are to resume, but he is nevertheless waiting for her the next morning at the back of the house. Together, they take the path down to the clearing. Mr. Solo is all business. He focuses on the children’s progress, asking if she was able to help them through their fits. She admits that her training has helped, but she is not as adept as he is.

When they reach the clearing, she sits on the platform in the traditional position, but he doesn’t instruct her yet. Instead, he fixes his eyes on a nearby oak, feet shifting through the leaves on the ground.

“Have you had any… visions?” he asks finally. “Hallucinations?”

Rey thinks back to her vivid dream and frowns. Surely he could not know about _that_. Surely it was not worth mentioning. “No sir,” she says. “May I ask why you inquire?”

“The Force can affect the user’s mind in unexpected ways,” he says, still not meeting her eyes.

Clear as mud, as usual. Would she ever get a straight answer out of the man?

 **“** Perhaps we should focus on mind tricks this morning. Improving your access to the mind of others’ will help you with the children. And with any… future hallucinations. If they occur.”

He meets her eyes again, again the confident instructor.

"You will try to access a memory I will provide for you. You may begin."

He does not suggest he try to enter her mind. Perhaps he still feels guilt over his invasiveness during her interview.

Rey closes her eyes. She reaches out hesitantly at first, but only encounters a smooth wall, no matter how far she searches. Increasingly frustrated, she shoves at the wall with all her might, but it will not give way. Unlike their encounter in the study, he is prepared, and will not make this easy for her.

When Rey was at Jakku, she got into the older girl’s good graces by picking the lock of Mr. Plutt’s liquor cabinet. It turned out she was a good lock picker, and afterwards, she often practised for her own amusement. There was a knack to it. You had to think, but also not think too hard, as though you were casually approaching the lock from the side. She tries settling into the same mindset now. Mr. Solo’s mind is just a lock. She finds the smallest point of purchase, gently nudges just so…

_He is riding through the mist. He rounds the bend, and unexpectedly, a woman is standing on the road._

_It takes a moment for Rey to realize she’s looking at herself. She knows what she looks like, of course, but the woman in Mr. Solo’s memory is… slightly taller, somehow. With a better figure, and better skin. Shinier hair. The overall effect is disorienting: Rey would never call herself beautiful, but she clearly is in this vision._

_The horse slips, a flurry of hooves…_

Rey pulls out of his mind. Is _that_ what she looks like to him? Even at their first meeting, her hem dusty from the road?

“That is hardly a prized secret that should be hidden from me,” she says to distract herself, lest she goes too far down that path. “In fact, I was there.”

He ignores that. “Very good. Try again.”

_She is in the study, looking out the window. She can see herself on the lawn with the twins. Harrison is holding out something he’s found, in the grass, and Rey and Karina are getting a closer look. Suddenly, whatever he is holding leaps out of his hand, and the three of them jump back, shrieking and laughing._

“You are a man of very feeble secrets, sir.” Rey complains as she comes back to the clearing.

“You are not a foreign spy, Miss Walker. The point is to practice mind tricks: the substance of the information you retrieve does not matter.”

“Still, I am capable of withstanding memories with a bit more bite,” she says, crossing her arms. “I have a strong constitution. In fact, I _could_ be a foreign spy, posing as an ordinary governess.”

“If you are a foreign spy, then I’m touched you chose my humble Hall for special consideration,” he says drily. “But I am your instructor. Only I determine the degree of memories you have the constitution to handle.”

“Then test me,” Rey challenges. _I can keep your secrets_ , she tries to project _. I am not afraid._

He appraises her for a long time. The trees rustle in the wind. She thinks perhaps he hasn’t heard her, and cautiously widens her connection to the Force. She isn’t trying to spy, exactly, but she wants to know the result of the assessment.

A glimpse of something unexpected. Like the first wildflowers just releasing their perfume. Admiration? _Longing_?

But then: “Perhaps some other day.” The connection cuts off abruptly. And they move away from mind tricks into more familiar territory.

…

Days pass. The Force lessons continue for Rey and the children.

And the evenings are spent on lessons of a different sort.

For instance, Rey and Mr. Solo teach the twins to play whist.

Harrison and Rey proceed to soundly beat the other two again and again, thanks to Rey’s contribution to the partnership. She grins to herself as Karina and Mr. Solo protest loudly after her fifth win. They are both such poor losers. She reshuffles the cards.

But then Mr. Solo is banished for attempting to read Rey’s mind with the Force, so Mrs. Kanata steps in. Rey’s grin vanishes then. The housekeeper helps win the next eight games. Karina looks much more satisfied with her new teammate. Mr. Solo, who has fixed his eyes on Rey as she plays (to rattle her, no doubt), delights in Rey’s losses. He looks like the cat who caught the cream.

“Please relieve your face of that smirk, sir,” Rey says primly. “You’re setting a poor example for the children.”

…

In the end, Mr. Solo is true to his word. He leaves with plenty of warning, and in the morning, so the children can see him off. Rey waits just in the hallway before the entrance while the children stand on the steps.

“Miss Walker,” he says, bobbing his head. He hesitates as though he isn’t quite sure what to say to her.

“I hope your journey is smooth, sir,” she says.

“Thank you,” he replies. Another sentence seems to be poised in his mind, the corners of his mouth make the smallest movement — but then he passes her, out the door, toward the children.

Karina and Harrison are on their best behaviour, and abnormally clean. They stand with their hands clasped in behind them. Mr. Solo kneels in front of them, reaching into the pocket. Rey glimpses two small gold cubes in his hand — they look like dice — before the children’s heads block her view.

“These belonged to my father,” he tells them awkwardly. He is trying, bless him, Rey thinks fondly. “I want you both to have them. Keep them safe for me?” The twins nod solemnly in unison, each taking one die. “I’ll be back within a fortnight,” he promises. He looks over their heads to look at Rey, standing in the doorway. “Don’t be too hard on Miss Walker.”

“We are always good,” Karina grumps.

“As of late.” But he smiles at them before mounting his horse.

They stand waving until he disappears completely around the bend. And keep waving after.

…

Another week. She finishes a book. The twins’ fits are rarer now, and less intense. Rey gets more adept at moulding the Force to help them, better at instructing them in how to stop the lightning themselves. They collect pond water for the microscope. They count down the days until Mr. Solo’s return, worrying the dice between their fingers.

...

_Another vision from the realm of sleep. But this time, a nightmare._

_First: pain. Exquisite and overwhelming. Every inch of her skin feels as though held against a hot iron._

_Then: No, not her skin. Mr. Solo’s._

_He — they? — are on horseback, she can tell from the way the countryside moves beneath them. The moon is a sliver, so she can’t make out anything besides the ragged breathing of the man, the clink of the reins. The horse leaps as though a demon were at its heels._

_A dim light shines in the Force like a beacon. Hanna Hall._

_He grits his teeth, bites his tongue._

_Still, the unending pain..._

Rey wakes up.

Dreams are easy to dismiss in daylight. If she had risen at her usual hour, perhaps she would act differently. But instead, her eyes open onto the disorienting night. So Rey operates on pure instinct.

The instinct to rush from her room bearing a candle, not even bothering to shrug on her dressing gown. The instinct to go toward the wound in the Force she can sense just outside Hanna Hall. _I’m coming, sir,_ she thinks, _I’m coming_. She does not stop to consider that it may not be him. She does not even stop to consider whether the gesture is foolish. She only moves down the stairs, across the hall...

She is barely past the threshold of the house when she sees the horse. The animal stops in front of her, the rider half-falling as he dismounts.

Mr. Solo’s eyes are wild in the candlelight. His hair is damp from sweat, his face so deathly pale it is almost luminescent. A dark, terrible stain spreads across his chest —

Is that blood?

She does not have time to react as his eyelashes flutter and he slumps against her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so things are going to get a bit darker than they've been so far. But look, the fic needs a reason for a sabre-fight, otherwise what's the point?
> 
> **References**  
> [Victorian microscopes](https://daily.jstor.org/victorian-microscope-enchanted-world/)  
> [ Whist ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whist)  
>  (I’m terrible at understanding game instructions, so I just said “card game, four players, two teams, got it.” Apologies to any 21st-century whist fans.)


	5. v

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: mild masochism (spoilers in the end notes), death of a child in Rey's past.

**v.**

At first, Rey thinks Mr. Solo has passed out entirely. She struggles to keep him upright with one hand still holding the candle, she opens her mouth to call for help. But then his eyes fly open. He grips her arm in warning.

“No doctors,” he rasps. “And no servants. If the children wake up...”

“Sir, you cannot possibly be serious, someone must fetch a surgeon, I will call Mrs. Kanata to look after —”

“And how long would it take,” he says with great difficulty, “for the surgeon to arrive?”

A fair point — he hardly seems to be in any condition to _wait_. Rey hesitates.

“I have no wish to die, Miss Walker,” he says. “At least not tonight.”

The hint of his old sarcasm convinces Rey that his condition has not made him delusional, at least. She will humour his request. For now.

With the Force to bear his weight, she manages to get him down the hall, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. Part of her focuses on getting him onto the bed. But the other half also takes in the room, greedy for any details that might provide clues as to his character, his likes and dislikes. The room is Spartan: a wardrobe, a bed, like a room meant for guests, not for daily living. There’s no indication of his tastes.

But interior decor assessment should not be her goal at present. She feels him grip her hand as hard as he did her arm. He constantly needs to touch, to hold — no doubt an outlet for the pain, like his gritted teeth.

The dark stain on his chest continues to bloom. A lead weight grows heavy in Rey’s stomach.

“Hold on, sir, I will be back with linens, it will only be a moment.” His fingers are a vice around hers, he refuses to let go, eyes desperate. “I promise, no doctor,” she tells him. And he lets go.

Rey makes her way down to the kitchen, grabbing some spare strips of cloth from the linen cupboard, trying to remember any first aid instructions. Rey had grown used to the darkness of the house, but now she feels its sinister qualities seep through. The abandoned south wing watches her, almost, like empty eye sockets. She rushes back to the bedroom, trying to keep calm.

His breathing is shallow, his glassy eyes half-focused. But it’s easy enough to undress him. She keeps her mind firmly in the realm of medicine as she helps him work free of his riding cloak, undoes the buttons of his shirt until he is naked from the waist up. His chest is hard with muscle, his skin smooth, save for… Rey swallows.

Gashes crisscross across his chest, weeping with blood. But it isn’t the blood that disturbs her. It’s the wounds' regularity: geometric lines, like a trellis. Someone _did this to him_ , and they were careful, deliberate. She bites her tongue, seething with rage.

But her rage will do nothing for him now. She presses a strip of cloth to his chest. A small gasp escapes from his lips. He grabs her upper arm again, leaving her hands free. Rey tries to apply as much pressure as she can, unsure whether it will be enough to staunch the blood. She should call a doctor. His eyes are still glassy.

Her movements become rhythmic. Tear strip of cloth. Apply to wound. Press down. Wipe away blood. Grab a fresh strip. The motion is almost like meditation. Her connection to the Force deepens. She can see his pain, the spot where his hand touches her arm throbs, though not unpleasantly...

There’s a thread of energy hanging between them. And as she presses the wounds on his chest, she notices a tiny, almost imperceptible movement from him to her.

Entranced, she pushes at the energy. Like dragging a pail in a river, moving the current further toward Mr. Solo. She sees the bleeding begin to lessen. The edges of her vision cloud, but she’s fully focused. She pushes harder, watching the gashes begin to close…

“Stop.” His voice reaches her as though from a great distance.

“Rey, _stop_ ,” and his use of her Christian name snaps her back to the room, breaking the flow of energy. Her head feels woozy, and she has to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. Her handiwork comes back into focus.

The gashes on Mr. Solo’s chest are no longer bleeding. They are fully closed, albeit an angry red. She did that. The thought makes her laugh weakly, she feels light, almost hysterical. Especially when she looks up from his chest and into his face. His brow is knitted, he looks furious.

“You _idiot_ ,” he hisses. “Using a technique without adequate training, without fully understanding the implications.”

“'Twasn't deliberate,” she says dumbly, his angry tone sobering her somewhat. “It just happened.” She closes her eyes. The surge of drunken energy is gone, she could sleep for a decade. She feels a soft brush of fingertips on her forehead and reluctantly opens her eyes.

He’s sitting up, looking at her with a mix of anger and concern now. _Don't be angry,_ Rey thinks. And, because perhaps the drunkenness hasn't entirely fled, _let me sleep here with you_.

"I'll make sure you get back to your room," he tells her curtly.

"Now _you're_ the idiot, sir," she tells him. Yes, she's definitely not herself, though she can't bring herself to care. "Only moments ago you were bleeding out."

He gingerly slides his feet off the other side of the bed, stands up with a wince. He’s still pale. But he is standing. “You may be a reckless fool, but as it turns out you’re also a very capable one.” He moves beside her and helps her up, picking up the candle.

She would have fought him, insisted he stay bedridden. But something in the Force tells her he _needs_ to escort her. So Rey lets him follow her down the hall. Her room is a few doors away, and she can walk on her own. He does not attempt to support her. But she can feel his eyes on her, watching for the slightest stumble. In turn, she watches him for any signs of pain. Two fools in a pod. She smiles to herself.

They reach the door. Before she disappears inside he grabs her wrist.

Rey inhales sharply at the motion, now that he has no reason to touch her. The point where fingers meet her wrist feels like a tiny heartbeat.

“I owe you a debt.” His eyes glow in the candlelight, stirring with inscrutable emotion. “Rey.”

“There is no debt, sir,” she says. The night no longer terrifies her. But the air holds an unbearable weight, a turbulence of possibility —

He lets go of her wrist. And she flees inside, closes the door.

...

Rey and Mr. Solo meet in the clearing the next day. As usual, the morning routine draws them together. Neither is willing to miss a lesson, even after the excitement of the previous night. As soon as the twins wake up, they will demand Mr. Solo’s attention. But the dawn can be theirs.

Mr. Solo is not inclined to instruct this morning, and Rey is not inclined to play the pleasant pupil. They both face each other next to the raised platform. He waits, as though he anticipates the thoughts boiling through her head.

“I want answers, sir,” she declares. Rey tries not to think about his chest exposed beneath her fingers.

“As I said, I am in your debt, Rey.” Her name again. He says it carefully, like the name is a small injured animal, or a priceless secret only he possesses.

Rey sucks her teeth. She wishes to know so much, but one question floats to the top: “The Force healing technique. Could it work on other afflictions?”

He frowns. This was not on his list of potential queries. “Such as…?”

“Disease.”

She tries to say it casually, as though the question had just occurred to her. But he isn’t fooled.

“Tell me,” he commands.

The story is difficult to tell, but Mr. Solo makes her want to tell it. “My friend… passed,” she begins cautiously. “Of typhoid, I think. At the Jakku Institute. We were eleven. It was a hard winter, all the girls were mostly inside — there were so many students to a room — “ Rey knows she babbles, but she can’t help it, the words keep tumbling out of her mouth, “— the director thought hot baths were a vanity. I suppose disease was inevitable, not that he cared much. Many of us got sick with fevers and chills, and so did I, but Rose… Rose didn’t make it. I could feel it coming, almost, they had isolated her from us, but I crawled into bed with her one night, I was trying to keep her safe somehow. But then I fell asleep. And she was gone when I woke up. But if I had known how to — ”

Rey breaks off, the jumble of words turning to sand on her tongue. She shouldn’t have told him the whole story. He didn’t need to know. But she still has his full attention.

“There is nothing you could have done, especially not at your age,” he says, shaking his head firmly. “Force healing is not an easy technique, and not frequently explored. But I’ve never heard of it being able to cure disease.”

Rey nods. She can do nothing else.

“Is this director still at the Institute?” His tone is light, almost careless, but Rey can sense a bone-crunching danger in his words, a touch of steel. Her stomach twists with a secret and fierce delight. Delight that he might feel the same anger Rey had locked away.

“No,” she manages to say, her voice even, “he was removed a few years ago.” It’s time for the critical question. “How did last night happen?”

“A risk of my employment,” he says simply.

“So you’re no bureaucrat,” she states. “And I doubt you’re in the business of farm or factory work.”

“No,” he replies.

Rey sighs. “Can you tell me anything else?”

“No.” The corners of his mouth twitch. Refusing her clearly amuses him, but Rey won’t pout or insist. She could drag it out of him, use his debt to her like a chisel. But she wants him to tell her on his own accord. She wants to be worthy. So instead she moves to another topic, half-curious, half-hoping to destabilize him.

“I have had several dreams. I knew you were in pain. I ran downstairs to find you. How?”

He considers her for a moment. “I couldn’t say,” he says slowly. “This… is a new phenomenon in the Force for me.” And then, so softly she almost doesn’t hear him: “I could… _feel_ you.”

A breeze shakes the leaves on the trees. A similar quaking begins inside herself, and Rey takes a few breaths to still her heart.

“You say you owe me a debt,” she says hoarsely, raising her eyes to meet his. “Teach me how to fight with a sabre.”

He raises his eyebrows at her, acting sceptical. But she has learned he is not inclined to deny her entirely.

“You must have enemies,” she argues nonetheless. “In your very specific line of business. And I want to be able to defend the children if it should come to that.” She knows the appeal to the twins will convince him.

“As you wish.” The sun has come loose from the horizon, his eyes glint. “But I will not go easy on you.”

…

And when they begin the next day, he isn’t easy on her.

He spends a long time on footwork, making sure her stance meets his stringent demands. By the time they move on to practice sparring with wooden sabres, her mind is exhausted from trying to retain all the details. He watches her moves carefully, providing running commentary on her technique — but of course, that does not stop him from constantly getting strikes in. He’s pulling his blows, she knows. Otherwise, he would break her bones, even with the wooden sabres. But he still hits hard enough to leave the occasional bruise. She tries to ignore the pain that soon wracks every inch of her body, gritting her teeth so that he won’t doubt her resolve.

And, of course, there are challenges of a less glamorous nature. Like her hair, which always falls into her eyes. Her _coiffure_ is not exactly used to vigorous exercise. She constantly has to stop and furiously pin it back into place.

“Dratted hair,” she hisses for the third time, struggling to hold the rapidly-collapsing style in place.

Mr. Solo takes a hesitant step towards her, then another. “May I...?” he gestures at her head.

Rey is so astonished all she can do is nod, frozen in the act of adjusting a pin. He gestures at the platform and she sits down. He moves to sit behind her.

At first, she thinks he merely means to pin the loose locks back in place. But then she feels his fingers at her scalp as he gently begins to remove the pins.

Rey had never quite learned to do her hair properly. Her mother couldn’t be bothered to teach her, of course. The other girls at Jakku might have been eager to help, if Rey had only asked. But Rey was too stubborn to admit she needed to learn such a simple task. So she had watched the other girls in the dormitory carefully out of the corner of her eye, stuck to a simple bun that was easy to do on her own. Her customary style was plain enough to not draw attention to her inadequacies. And that was how Rey liked it.

So she can’t remember the last time someone touched her hair.

And she can’t recall a man ever seeing it loose.

She is grateful she can’t see Mr. Solo’s face. She couldn’t bear to read his expression. What must he think, to see her so unkempt?

She notices he carefully avoids touching exposed skin, even as he gathers the wayward hair next to her cheek and pulls it back. Perhaps he can sense her nerves. Or he wants to avoid the impression of impropriety. She feels her face go hot.

“How did you learn to do this?” Rey asks to break the silence.

“My mother was a great follower of the new labour unions and held the opinion that all servants should have Sunday and Monday off. Of course, she did not go so far as to do her own hair. She made her son do the job on those days.”

 _A pity that her son does not follow suit regarding his employees’ week-ends,_ Rey thinks. She hears a small snort behind her, and she whips her head around, eying Mr. Solo suspiciously. But he is as serious as the grave, holding up his hands in mock-surrender.

“Stay still,” he admonishes. Rey turns her head reluctantly as he gets back to work. She really needs to be better at guarding her own mind. _Though it is very rude of him to listen in,_ she tries to project, but nothing changes in Mr. Solo. Perhaps he’s taken the hint and stayed out.

She relaxes beneath his fingers. She is happy to be sitting after the strain of sparring. The morning sun is warm on her face, and she subconsciously leans back toward him, which he does not resist.

But all too soon, he has finished, drawing his hands back.

“Try now,” he says.

She shakes her head as hard as she can, then gets up, leaping back and forth a few times. The hair stays perfectly in place. She turns her gaze back towards him, waiting for his assessment. As she turns, she catches a glimpse of him swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

But then he regains his composure. “The trick is to plait it first, several plaits if need be,” he tells her. “So you can do it on your own. Next time.”

And they resume the fight. This time, she manages to block an attack from him, and earns a slow smile.

She keeps her hair in the same style for her lessons with the twins. She assumes they will not notice the change, but as usual, her charges can be observant whenever it least suits her.

“Miss Walker, your hair looks very good,” Harrison says as soon as he sits down at the desk.

“Yes, you should do that every day,” Karina agrees. “It’s much better than the boring old bun.”

“I rather enjoy my boring bun, thank you,” Rey says, opening the primer to the appropriate page.

But she is secretly pleased, catching glimpses of herself in windows and mirrors as she moves around Hanna Hall. She may never be able to replicate the effect. But she likes being able to wear his work, the secret proof of his hands touching her hair, at least for a day.

…

Later at night, Rey will massage her sore limbs, examine the bruises from the training on her thighs. She’ll press them gently, experimentally. Will moan slightly, first in pain, then in a pleasure that slowly builds, unexpected as a sun-shower.

Her breath turns ragged. She thinks of each strike of the sabre hitting home. The way his attention fixes entirely on her. As though she’s the central axis of the Earth’s revolution.

Her hands make their way between her legs. She’s wet — how did she get so wet? Has she been that way all day? (Or every day. Anticipating his moves. Hearing his voice. _Wanting him_.)

She thinks of him vulnerable on the bed, the candlelight, the expanse of his healed chest…

 _I could feel you,_ he said. Can he feel her now? The thought of him _watching_ drives her wild, she bites her lip to hold back a moan, her fingers increase their pace. Her mind is going blank, she’s hot and shaking from head to toe, she’s on the crest of a magnificent wave…

But it’s the memory of his gentle hands gathering her hair that makes her unravel. Makes her come with his name on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can a nine chapter fic be slow burn? Because I think this might be slow burn. 
> 
> cw: Pressing the bruises from training with Mr. Solo turns Rey on. While she masturbates, she thinks back to him hitting her with the wooden training sabres.


	6. vi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: emotional abuse from Rey's mother, who is a narcissist of the worst kind. 
> 
> This chapter is a little short. But it's coming later than I wanted, and I was trying to stuff two chapters' worth of scenes into one. (Nothing here was in the original outline.) So I figured I'd split it up so I could update sooner. 
> 
> (I'm in denial and avoiding updating the chapter count. There will be more than ten chapters.)

**vi.**

If the message came by letter, she would have burned it.

But instead, Rey listens to the visitor in the kitchen with a mask of politeness. The middle-aged coachman looks flustered, thinning hair sticking up, cap in his hand as he attempts to explain while Rey offers no comment. She focuses on the pot hanging on a hook behind his head. His words reach her in fragments.

_Mother. Brain congestion. Called for you._

“I was instructed to fetch you directly,” he concludes, wringing the cap. And then, when Rey continues to say nothing: “We must leave tomorrow at dawn, ma’am — we would leave today, but I must sleep before setting out again — I fear Mrs. Walker was in a bad state when I left. She may not have much time left.”

The practicalities of the situation clear her mind, at least. Rey cannot be so callous as to send him away when he has driven the hundred miles from Niima. And when he brings news of her father’s death a few months back. She should pretend to have some emotion. But the news only sits in her chest like a cold stone.

Still, her heart leaps at the thought that perhaps, for once in Rey’s life, all is not lost. Her still mother _wants her._ She hates herself for the thought, but feels it all the same. A seductive poison.

“I must speak to my employer,” she says finally. “Please make yourself comfortable: I believe there is some cheese in the pantry. I will ask the housekeeper to find you a place to sleep.” And, after gesturing to the aforementioned pantry, she leaves the kitchen.

…

She finds Mrs. Kanata easily in the parlour, feather duster in hand. The housekeeper gives Rey a shrewd look when she mentions the reason for her impending leave, but as usual, does not press. Rey has an uncanny feeling she can grasp the extent of the situation without a word from Rey. But Mrs. Kanata nonetheless promises to house the coachman in the height of comfort.

Mr. Solo, however, proves harder to find. He is not in the study, or in the stables, or in the drawing room.

Rey has been, in truth, cautious around him ever since her first lesson in Force combat. She tries to focus on the content of his instruction, sealing her mind to prevent dangerous thoughts from leaking out. If he ever found her increasingly _improper_ thoughts about him, she would be mortified.

(Or, a more dangerous concept: she secretly _wanted_ him to see how she touched herself that night, and the many nights since, thinking of him. If a memory slipped out, she could not swear it would be accidental.)

Eventually she finds him in the billiards room, leaning across the green. He rights himself as she comes in, listening as she explains the situation succinctly.

When she is finished, there is a long pause. “It is early in your employment for an extended leave,” he says finally, fiddling with the cue.

His words make Rey's stomach leap with hope. Perhaps he will forbid her from leaving. She will have no choice but to stay, she will not have to face Niima again...

But that cannot be. “I would not ask if the circumstances were less dire, sir.”

He appraises her with those cool dark eyes. “I thought your parents were dead.”

“In truth, I was entirely ignorant of their fates, sir, and happy to live in that ignorance. It turns out my father died suddenly a few months back, leaving my mother in a state of shock. And now she has sent for me.”

Thankfully, he seems less concerned by her former lie and more interested in the matter of her leave. Desperation leaks into the Force. She can only assume he is not eager to lose the only governess that could handle his children.

“But you will return. You will not stay there.”

A statement, not a question. At any other time, his habit of _assuming_ might irritate her. But now Rey is grateful for the command.

“No, sir. I will return.” The hint of desperation emanating from him in the Force dissipates. He turns back to examine the configuration of the balls.

“If your leave grows too long, Rey," he says, moving closer to her to obtain a more advantageous billiards position, "I must advertise for a new governess. And a sparring partner. I doubt any one person will be able to fill both positions.”

“I only expect to be gone a week. Only long enough to tend to any affairs.” And, because she loves the games they build together, the distraction from her looming journey: “But if I do _not_ return, might I suggest you also advertise for a personal surgeon?”

“An old crone of the witching persuasion would make a better substitute. I hear you are not all so obstinate.“ He lines the cue up with the ball. Rey nudges his target slightly off center with the Force, and his shot misses.

“I count obstinacy among my accomplishments.” She tries to look above suspicion as he frowns at the ball, then turns back toward her.

“Yes, you deserve a rise in pay for your many _accomplishments_.” And to Rey’s astonishment, he reaches into his purse, pulling out a note. Before she can react, he takes hold of her wrist — using only his thumb and forefinger, barely touching skin — and tilts the palm towards him. He places the note in her hand.

It is twenty pounds, nearly her entire salary per annum.

“Sir, I do not have any change.”

“I was not expecting any change,” he retorts.

“Then I cannot accept.” What can he possibly mean by this? Is he mad? She attempts to push the note back into his hand. But he is just as stubborn and insistent, and in the struggle she finds herself pressed up against the billiards table, the banknote sandwiched between their hands, his face mere inches away —

“Obstinate. Again,” he breathes out. She can feel his breath on her cheek. Rey nearly _trembles_. For a brief moment, she closes her eyes, eager to etch the timbre of his voice to memory...

“Please desist, or I must increase your pay further still. You will send me into bankruptcy.” His voice comes from further away, and when she opens her eyes, he is a few feet away, studiously examining the cue once more. Are the tips of his ears flushing? No, Rey must be imagining it.

They stand that way for several moments. Her hands are sweating, she still clutches the note. As he continues to stay silent, she comes to her senses and tucks the note into her pocket.

"Well, then," she says, her voice sticking in her throat. "I will leave quite early tomorrow. So farewell."

He looks up from the cue, his eyes oddly dark. "Farewell, Rey."

She does not want to leave that billiards room. She does not want to leave that particular sliver of moment. But she must. And she does.

…

The twins are even less tolerant of her departure than Mr. Solo, but Rey expected this. She finds them on the front lawn poking around for earthworms to observe under the microscope. The ground is damp from last night’s rain, and the twins wear rubber boots.

As soon as Rey begins to tell them about her temporary leave, Harrison and Karina start shimmering blue. She lets the lightning run its course, knowing the rain and boots will prevent damage, saying nothing. She only touches the children lightly with the Force. Instead of scorching the lawn, their bolts make small tendrils of steam rise from the grass.

“You said you didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Harrison accuses when the spell has passed.

“And I do not,” Rey says, trying not to sound defensive. “It is only for a few days — I _also_ said I would never leave, and I meant it. Have I ever gone back on my word? And you both will enjoy a break from schooling.”

The twins say nothing, but Karina glares to demonstrate just how little she thinks of this ‘break from schooling.’ The steam has dissipated entirely now, but Rey can still feel their disappointment in the Force. They both resume poking at the ground with sticks.

“Oh look, there’s a worm over there,” says Rey, pointing out a fat red wiggler.

“It’s too large for the microscope,” Karina says dismissively.

Rey continues to watch the children search for a few minutes. But they continue to ignore her, and she has nothing else to say. So she sighs and leaves to pack her trunk. She can only hope she has managed to build up enough good will that they will not be _too_ put out by the disruption in their schooling. And she will be back. They will see.

But she finishes packing, the night grows long, and the twins still don’t appear to say goodbye. She slips upstairs to their room, but finds the lights out. And they still don’t appear the following morning, as the coachman takes her trunk in the wan light.

Before Rey clambers into the carriage, she hesitates, looking at the Hall. Should she go back into the house and wake the children?

But before she can move, they both burst out the front door, running wildly, yelling out their goodbyes. They’re still in their nightclothes.

They hug her so hard the breath is sucked out of her lungs.

Save for their first meeting (when Karina tried to lull her into complacency), it’s the first time her charges have embraced her so solidly. Why does that make her chest ache?

Perhaps because — as the carriage bumps toward her past, toward her own kin — Rey knows the twin’s affection for her cannot last. They are not _her_ children. She is only their governess, and children grow out of needing governesses. That is how her story will someday end.

…

The smoke from the factory appears before the town itself.

Niima has expanded and shifted like a growing beast since Rey left for the Jakku Institute. Everything is distorted when compared to her memories. Strange winding streets branch off from familiar ones. The shop signs bear new names and fresh coats of paint. But the row of townhomes where she grew up is the same on the exterior, at least.

When Rey steps inside her parent’s townhome, however, she’s greeted by an unexpected flurry of activity. Strangers move in and out of the doorway, and she feels out of place and ill-at-ease as she asks a passing gentleman after Mrs. Walker. He merely gestures towards the stairs, saying “top floor.”

Rey ascends the staircase cautiously. The halls are still alive with strangers. Fortunately, a squat woman finds her before she reaches the top floor — her mother's maid and nurse, who has recognized a certain likeness in Rey’s features.

From the nurse, she gets a general sketch of the situation. Her parents had sold the townhome a few years ago. It is now being used chiefly as a boarding house, save for the entire top floor, which is reserved for Rey’s family. The servants had all left, and her mother and the nurse are now the sole occupants of the apartment. Rey should steel herself, according to the nurse. Her mother has not been in her right mind, has lost weight rapidly, etc.

And before Rey can protest or run, the nurse has ushered her to the threshold of her mother’s room. Rey closes her eyes, trying to steady herself. She walks in.

The woman in the bed is hardly recognizable as Rey’s mother. Surely the woman had never been so small. Surely she had never been so pale and drawn, her closed eyes hollow in their sockets.

The nurse makes a show of fussing with the sheets, then leaves Rey alone in the room. She slowly approaches her mother’s bedside. She stays asleep for several minutes, and Rey relaxes. She focuses on the weave of the bedsheets.

As she is beginning to wonder whether she should leave, however, her mother’s eyes fly open. Her eyes are clouded with incomprehension as her gaze roams around the room, even as she turns her attention toward Rey. But then, gradually, recognition seeps in.

“Rey,” she says.

Rey swallows. Standing at the side of bed is suddenly painful. She wants to keep her hands and feet busy, so she decides she will fetch her mother a glass of water. But as she begins to move, her mother reaches out for Rey. Her eyes are wild, her breathing rapid.

“You must forgive me,” she rasps, clutching Rey’s forearm with surprising strength. Rey takes a sharp intake of breath. The motion is unexpected, as is the sentiment. Her eyes threaten to mist with tears.

But her mother is not finished. “You were just...“ she mouths the words, Rey must press her ear close, “...such a difficult child…”

The words fall like a gong on Rey’s ears — the world becomes sharper, the colours garish — she wants to _shake_ the woman on the bed, or break a window. She scrabbles for the Force, trying to reproduce the healing effect that came so easily to her at Mr. Solo’s bedside. Anything to revive the body on the bed enough to _respond_ , to own up to what she did to Rey.

But it’s no use. Rey cannot summon the technique to heal. Or perhaps her needs are beyond even the Force. The woman does not make any coherent word.

Rey sits in the corner chair and cries until she can cry no more.

And by the next morning, her mother is dead.

…

In the end, there is no inheritance, not that Rey expected much. All the money will go to settle her parents' debts, and Rey leaves the small remaining sum to her mother’s nurse, who has reached an advanced age and had been her mother’s sole servant.

…

The journey back to Hanna Hall is arduous in its monotony. Rey is stuck in a fog she cannot name. Not quite grief, she doesn’t think. As the countryside passes and the carriage rocks back and forth hypnotically, her mind goes blessedly blank. She is neither asleep nor awake. Instead, she slips subconsciously into the space she uses to access the Force.

And, as though the Force senses her dark mood, a window opens up on _him_.

He is not at Hanna Hall. She does not recognize the setting: a small room, with a small window high on the wall, perhaps at the basement level. She takes in the desk, the narrow bed unsuited to his height. His feet must surely dangle off the edge. At any rate, he must have been called off on “business.”

The man himself is sitting at the desk with his back turned to her. Mr. Solo is in a half-state of undress, which would have perhaps sent pulses of nervous energy through Rey — had he not also been slumped over the desk, sound asleep. She represses a giggle. He must have been working all night. Thankfully, he does not appear to be covered in blood.

But she cannot bring herself to worry over his employment at this moment. Rey watches his shoulders rise and fall as he breathes. She feels calm, looking at him. As though he could soothe her thoughts through the Force, even at this distance.

But the sudden wave of calm also frightens her. Is she so broken, that she must attach herself to her employer so easily? A man she knows so little about? A man who arrives in the dead of night covered in blood, who is potentially _dangerous_?

Though he has been kind to her, yes. And she can not deny there is some strange… _attraction_ between them, even if it must never go further than attraction. But he shouldn’t make her feel like _this_. Like she is _safe,_ like they’re on the edge of a lake where they’ve built a —

Rey breaks off the connection abruptly. If he woke to find her there, she would not have the strength to break it on her own accord.

Her intense _need_ , her helplessness in the face of it, is the most frightening of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry: all will be well in the end. 
> 
> **References**
> 
> It was definitely not appropriate for a young lady to be alone with a man while he played billiards. Luckily, Rey and I only care about Victorian social norms when it suits us. 
> 
> Apparently "brain congestion" often referred to dementia.


	7. vii

**vii.**

When she arrives at Hanna Hall, Mr. Solo has not returned. Karina and Harrison immediately launch into a flurry of news. Karina can now lift the heaviest armchair with the Force. Harrison found a beetle which they could not identify in any of the monographs. Mrs. Kanata hired a new cook, Miss Connix, who nearly burned down the kitchen when trying out a _flambé_. The pet spider produced an egg-sac which the twins estimate could contain a thousand eggs.

Between their stories, Rey manages to discover Mr. Solo will not return until Friday. The news brings a mixture of relief and disappointment Rey tries not to think about. Luckily, the twin's chatter keeps her occupied. Indeed, Rey can hardly get in a word edgewise.

The twins only fall silent once she has hauled the trunk to her room (they insist on helping with the Force), and sets to unpacking.

“I told you I’d be back,” Rey says, as she begins to put her clothing back in the armoire.

“Good.” Karina throws herself on the bed. “We didn’t want to start with a new governess.”

“If he had made us get a new one before you got back, we would have given her hell, Miss Walker,” says Harrison, clambering up to sit cross-legged next to Karina.

“I should hope not,” Rey says, turning to the armoire so he doesn't see her grin. The determined glint in Harrison’s eye reminds her of Mr. Solo. “It would reflect better on me if I had transformed you into model pupils.”

“Oh, we are _always_ very smart,” Karina declares, “and also much better now.”

“But we don’t want you to have to teach some _other_ children,” Harrison says.

“They would definitely be worse in every way,” says Karina.

“I’m sure they would be,” Rey says. "I appreciate your concern." And although she says it in jest, it isn't a lie.

…

The twins' happiness at her return parts the clouds hanging over Rey, but the effect is only temporary. Sometimes when she is speaking with them or Mrs. Kanata, a dull fog rolls over her mind. Though she does her best to conceal her distraction, Rey finds herself spending more and more time outside the Hall when lessons are over. Fortunately, a spate of good weather has fallen upon the region, so the twins do not rely on her for entertainment. So Rey can be alone, breathing in the earthy scents of life emerging after winter. She can focus only on the rustling of creatures in the brush. She can try not to think about Mr. Solo, her mother...

Once, when she is at a particularly dark point, she wanders into the ruined south side of the house. She isn't sure what she is seeking. Perhaps a reflection of her mood, perhaps something that would make her abandon her feelings for Mr. Solo once and for all.

Patches of grass grow here, with blackened beams jutting out. They are beginning to rot and stain with moss. There are scorch marks on the stone foundations. Perhaps a fire caused this, then — she supposes she could ask Mrs. Kanata. But _fire_ would be an ordinary tragedy. Fires could happen to any household, and often did.

Despite the destruction, Rey feels calm here. The south side always seemed oppressive at night from the intact quarters, but now it seems ordinary. Peaceful, almost, with the roof open to sky like the painted ceiling of a cathedral. Even when she opens herself up to the Force, there are no ghostly whispers. The stones speak of nothing except the moss growing over, the ants crawling through.

The wind whistles through the gaps everywhere present.

…

Mr. Solo arrives late that Friday. Rey can feel the tug of him strengthen, like a snapped vine healing back together. But she does not go to greet her employer. And she does not join him for her training the following morning, telling herself that he would no doubt wish to rest after his journey.

Avoiding him in the evening proves more difficult. She almost goes to the drawing-room, but cannot work up the nerve. So she stays in her room. No one comes to fetch her: perhaps Mrs. Kanata has found some excuse for Rey's absence. And when the next dawn comes, when she would normally go to training, she lies still in bed, for a minute, then ten, then thirty.

She tries to ignore the frantic beating of her heart, the nagging thorn in the Force, so tender she must be delusional. She feels almost like he is drawing near, he is almost at her door —

A beat, like a breath held one second too long —

Rey hears a knock.

She gets out of bed, pulling on her dressing gown. She answers.

He looks the same as ever: impossibly large, caramel eyes, dark hair slightly askew. His lips are pursed in a frown.

(Still, the Force _purrs_ at the sight of him.)

“You didn’t come to lessons,” he says. No preamble, no greeting.

“I’m sorry. I overslept, sir," Rey says, refusing to meet his eyes. "I will be on time for the children's instruction."

His frown deepens. “You do look pale. Have you been sleeping well?"

"As well as ever, sir." She must dispel his worries — she can hardly stand the intensity of his gaze. She only wants to return to bed and sleep without dreams.

But still, he persists. "And your appetite?"

"Kaydel is a fine cook: Mrs. Kanata did well to hire her."

"And how —" he coughs, shuffles his feet — "how was your leave? How is your mother?"

"She is dead, sir," Rey says as evenly as she can.

He blinks, looking unsure. "I am sorry." Rey can feel him at the edges of her mind once again, but still keeping his distance.

" _I_ am not," she says, and her voice comes out higher-pitched than she intended.

"Rey. What happened?" It's a question, but stated firmly, as though he could wrench an answer from her through sheer force of will.

She feels like a stubborn child as she looks at the ground and shakes her head. Tears sting at the corner of her eyes.

"Show me, then," and his voice is different, so gentle, coaxing...

If she had hesitated only an instant she would have refused. She would have built a wall around her mind. But instead his request instantly releases something stoppered up deep inside her, and her mind is open to him, she's showing him everything, Niima, the house, the room, the bed, her mother's words, _you were such a difficult child_...

Her cheeks are wet as she comes out of the memory, her head still bowed. As her vision clears, she sees his hand clenched at his side. The fingers relax. They twitch, then clench again, like some ancient sea creature.

“Rey, you are a model governess, and extremely gifted in the Force,” he says firmly, and Rey cannot help herself. The ease with which he praises her makes a piece fall into place. Her heart stitches itself back up...

“The children — all of Hanna Hall —” He is having difficulty finding the right words, now. “That is to say, we are fortunate to have you. And if I could, I would —” he breaks off, breathing through his nose.

"You'll come to training again,” he states. “Tomorrow.”

Rey nods, meeting his eyes this time. She expects to see pity in his gaze, but does not find it. Instead, she is surprised to find something like _awe_.

“Rey, my —” he starts, but does not finish. And then he turns on his heels and leaves.

…

Rey keeps her word and wakes up for training the next morning. Mr. Solo doesn't wait for her at the back of the house, so she makes her way to the clearing alone. He is already there, and he has something for her. A long narrow box sits on the platform, and she forgets her trepidation in her curiosity.

He doesn’t say anything, but he can feel his eyes on her as she undoes the latch. She flushes, aware that she will have to show some reaction. But then she flips open the top. And the gasp she makes is completely genuine.

It’s a sabre. Rey has never seen one in person. But she has seen enough illustrations and paintings to recognize the curved blade favoured by Force adepts. The blade and hilt gleam silver in the new light.

Through her shock, she realizes Mr. Solo is speaking: “...not so fine as the makers in the far East, I’m afraid, but they’re serviceable enough, I had to guess at the balance and size of the hilt, but those could be adjusted easily—” Rey has never seen him like this, a bundle of nerves “— you can give me your specifications, or go into London yourself one day…”

Rey lifts the sabre out of the box. She unsheaths it carefully. It slides into her hand like she was born to wield it. Surprisingly, it's lighter than the wooden training swords. She doesn't recognize the metal, but it must be very prized. The blade is so sharp, and the craftsmanship so fine, that the edge practically disappears into nothing.

“...I know you don’t approve of presents, but if it helps you can think of it as a loan, perhaps we could pass it to Karina once she’s older and if the balance is right —”

He is lying at that. She can feel it in the Force. The sabre is hers.

“It’s perfect,” Rey says reverently. She can't take her eyes off the weapon.

“You like it, then?” His voice sounds small, like he needs her approval. She looks up at him then.

“Yes,” says Rey, breaking into a smile so wide her cheeks hurt. “Very much so.”

The sabre is a gift greater than Mr. Solo could imagine. When Rey wields it, when she practices her form under Mr. Solo’s gaze, when she engages in battle with him, the edges of the world widen. Her mother may have thought little of her. But Rey can feel the horizon of her life deepen unexpectedly as she flourishes the blade. Even if the twins eventually grow tired of her, she does not _need_ to be a governess. She has power, and not just a physical power, and not just in relation to others, but in herself.

The thought isn’t a perfect comfort. But slowly, the fog in her mind becomes less frequent.

...

Rey manages to keep the sabre from Harrison and Karina for a week, sensing that a mere _hint_ of the weapon will make them pester her intolerably. But during one lesson, Mr. Solo insists Rey pause her fighting to learn how to maintain her present. So Rey finds herself in the library, reluctantly polishing the blade as Mr. Solo reads a letter that arrived that morning.

She hears a bang mid-polish as Harrison flings open the door with the Force. Rey sighs. Of _course_ the twins would arrive at lessons on time on the very day she’s trying to keep a secret.

The children, in their infinite bloodlust, identify the weapon and situation immediately.

“You have a _sabre_ Miss Walker! When do _we_ get to use sabres?” Karina exclaims. They both run to Rey’s side and peer around her to get a better look.

“When you can stop losing your temper every time you lose at whist,” Rey tells her.

“Mr. Solo loses his temper every time!” Karina exclaims, pointing at her guardian dramatically. But her eyes stay glued to the sabre.

“And I _never_ lose my temper at whist,” says Harrison, eyes similarly occupied.

“When you are older, then. Perhaps sixty-seven?” Mr. Solo suggests, looking up from the letter. But Rey notices he does not refute Karina’s accusation.

It’s clear the twins are not going to get permission for immediate sabre lessons. They drop the line of demand, but just as quickly move to the next.

“May I _hold_ it _?”_ Karina asks eagerly, blinking up first at Rey, then Mr. Solo. Her eyes sparkle. She clasps her hands together like a child demanding a kitten.

“Certainly not. It’s not a toy.” But Rey holds out the weapon for closer inspection. The twins bend over for a moment, touching the hilt reverently and exclaiming over the craftsmanship. The delight of a closer look, however, can only tide them over for so long.

“We need to see you _use_ it at least,” Karina says, righting herself and crossing her arms. “It’s not fair, hiding sabres from us.“

“I’ve been reading a lot about Force battle tactics,” Harrison says shyly.

“And I’ve been _listening_ to Harrison talk about Force battle tactics,” Karina adds. “I have some good ideas.”

“I don’t think — “ Rey begins, but it seems Mr. Solo has a different design.

“Why not?” His eyes gleam. “It will be good for them to see how it’s done.” He has finished the letter and folds it back up, placing it in the desk drawer.

Rey bristles as he contradicts her, but he _is_ their guardian. And she cannot deny that she secretly longs to fight him again. She has grown accustomed to the sword quickly. Perhaps _this_ is her opportunity to best him. And her fighting lessons were cut short in favour of the less-exciting sword maintenance lessons.

“Very well,” she sighs, before turning back to the twins and attempting to reassert some authority: “But you must stay very still at the edge of the lawn and not make a noise.”

Karina and Harrison nod their heads vigorously. They keep their mouths closed to demonstrate their commitment to silence. The sabre can wring all sorts of good manners out of them, apparently. Rey wonders how many dusty books of history she could get them to read in exchange for the chance to hold it.

…

And then:

The hot sun forms sweat under her chemise, dampens Mr. Solo’s shirt. Insects leap in the grass. Mr. Solo’s movements, his sabre, shape the air. And Rey moves in turn as she leans towards him, twists away, offers her own shapes and alterations. Their bodies move, in opposition, in sync.

The twins stay remarkably well-behaved until the moment at which she manages to hold the sabre to Mr. Solo’s throat. And even then, their shouting does not distract her. His dark eyes, the tension in the Force, have hooked her completely.

But then he yields. He steps back. Rey swallows back her disappointment. They are both always like this, making their own dance even without music or a sabre-fight. Rey yielding, or Mr. Solo yielding. One of them choosing to step away. The person left behind never giving chase.

This time, with the humming Force filling her lungs, Rey would have given chase.

But the children are there. So she cannot.

…

Soon Harrison and Karina have run off to the library, aiming to resolve a Force dispute with literature. Rey is left alone with Mr. Solo on the lawn, but the Force energy between them has lessened to a dull pull. In any case, Mr. Solo appears distracted. He looks up to the highest levels of the house, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“It appears we are to have visitors. At Hanna Hall,” he tells her, still looking up.

Rey frowns at the abrupt shift in topic. “Sir?”

“I just received notice this morning.” So that was the letter, then.

“When, sir?” Guests will involve preparations, and she assumes she will have to help Kaydel and Mrs. Kanata.

“Two evenings from this one.”

“What _visitors_?” Irritation is beginning to rise in her now, does the man not have any sense, bringing visitors over on such short notice? And he certainly has never mentioned any friends or relations.

“Work colleagues. A Mr. Hux, a Miss Phasma, a Miss Netal, and a Mr. Pryde," he lists off, almost bored, "And a Mr. Snoke.”

He sneaks a glance at Rey. The names mean nothing to her. But the hint of bile in the Force as he speaks the words, despite the casualness in his tone, puts her on edge. And she knows the particularities of his _employment_ are likely unsavoury.

“I need you to be there," he continues. "I admit I do not trust them entirely, and it would be prudent to have your particular _talents_ at my side. Strictly to avoid losing half the silver, of course.”

“You’re bringing these people _here_ ,” Rey spits. “With the children present.”

“They will be in bed sound asleep, with Mrs. Kanata to watch over them. I cannot make other arrangements that will satisfy me on such short notice.”

“Then tell your associates they cannot visit,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Rey. I swear to you: no harm will come to the children." He looks directly at her, eyes earnest. "In fact, I never speak of them to my colleagues. They don’t even know of their existence, and if you pretend to be something other than the governess they will be none the wiser.”

Rey softens, but only slightly. “But how am I going to watch these people without suspicion? If I cannot be the governess.”

“I thought you could play the part of my wife.” He looks down at the grass, avoiding her gaze again.

Rey tries to ignore the flutter in her chest at his words. She focuses on practicalities. The man is _ridiculous._ “I cannot _possibly_ pretend to be your wife, sir, surely even the least collegial of colleagues would know if you were _married_. Perhaps a servant?”

“No. I need you to move about without arousing suspicion,” he says firmly, looking up, eyes daring her to object.

Blood still pounds in her veins after the fight, and its heat makes Rey bold. She takes a step closer. She lowers her lashes, flashes an innocent smile up at him.

“Mistress, then,” she says. “Sir.”

Any amount of impropriety would be worth watching him almost swallow his tongue.


	8. viii

**viii.**

Rey inspects herself in the dingy mirror above the washbasin. She wears her best dress, a light grey fabric that falls slightly off the shoulders, with a pearl brooch. Her hair is swept up in the style she now uses for sparring. At least the style looks adequately elaborate, and no one will be the wiser as to its origins. But the ensemble is conservative for the occasion. A sense of "governess" lingers around her.

She tries pinching her cheeks. That helps, but not much. She sighs.

Rey doesn’t think she looks much like a mistress. But she supposes that mistresses can come in many forms: they need not be... voluptuous and made-up. In fact, her plainness lends to the illusion. Surely if someone were _inventing_ a mistress, Rey would not be the last woman they would conjure up.

And she doesn’t wish to draw attention to herself. She is wary of Mr. Solo’s “colleagues.” She needs to be alert, she cannot be distracted. Frowning, she thinks back to her last conversation with Mr. Solo.

_“So you are not taken aback: my colleagues may call me by another name.”_

_But he does not produce the name. “Sir?” Rey prompts._

_“Kylo Ren,” he says. An odd name._

_“So is that what —” the word ‘I’ catches in her throat — “what your mistress would call you? Kylo?”_

_The way he looks at her then makes heat flood through her. She should call the whole plan off. She is playing with fire. Why can she never stop herself, around him?_

_“No,” he says softly. “She would call me Ben.”_

...

Before the guests arrive, Rey goes to check on the children.

Rey and her charges spent the past two days in a flurry of preparations for guests. They helped Mrs. Kanata pull fine furniture from dusty rooms, wipe the floors, and shine the silverware. And they helped Kaydel with the food preparations, too: aspics and tarts and other foods Rey had never tasted.

Rey had warned the twins that they would not attend the event. But they still fought to convince her otherwise. And it was hard to fault them, with all the elaborate goings-on. She had to promise that they would have other parties with guests someday. She had to swear they would have a personal dinner party with the leftover dishes. The party would include every single dessert, and they wouldn’t have to wear stiff fancy clothes, and wouldn’t that be nice?

But Rey also knows that the harder she wheedles, the more they are convinced of the splendor of the party. And she knows they must have some plan brewing.

Night has fallen when she opens the door to their bedroom. They are in their nightclothes — a little early for bedtime, but not extremely so. The lamps are dim. Mrs. Kanata sits in a chair besides them, knitting a large lumpy square.

"I thought I'd pop in before the guests arrived. To say goodnight,” Rey says. “Remember: behave, and Miss Connix will save two whole tarts for you.”

“We are already ready to sleep, Miss Walker,” Karina says in her sweetest voice, climbing into bed. “The party seems like it will be very boring, and we don’t want to disturb anyone. Mrs. Kanata should join you. There’s no need for her to watch over us.”

“How good of you,” Rey says, matching her tone. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Harrison move deeper under the covers guiltily. “But Mrs. Kanata will stay here.”

“I have seen enough fine parties to last me a lifetime, child,” Mrs. Kanata says, looking at Karina over her glasses. “And I doubt this will be the sort of party that suits me.”

Rey tries to imagine the sort of party Mrs. Kanata would enjoy. Given her skill with cards, she doubts it would involve knitting.

“Well, if you are ready for bed, I suppose I must go. Goodnight.” Rey goes over to kiss each one on the tops of their heads, which Karina bears with unusual good grace. They both close their eyes obediently.

But the Force around them pulses with plotting. No doubt Karina and Harrison plan to sneak out. So as Rey reaches the door, she guiltily shapes the Force around them. Just a small push to help them sleep faster, and deeper.

Once outside their room, she leans back against the door a moment, head tilted back. What is she doing? Is this whole affair a disservice to her charges?

 _I swear to you: no harm will come to the children._ The memory of Mr. Solo's voice rings in her ear.

She returns to her room to wait for his summons.

...

The moments tick past. Rey feels too nervous to occupy herself by reading, so she looks out the window. She can’t see the road to Hanna Hall in the darkness. But eventually, carriage lights appear as dots in the distance and begin to grow brighter.

When Mr. Solo still doesn’t appear, she becomes restless, and resolves to find him. But he is standing at her door when she opens it. She jumps.

“Mr. Mitaka has informed me the guests have arrived.”

Rey takes him in. He looks all of his height in his black waistcoat. There will be no question of what attracts _her_ to _him_. The man is built like a church organ, or an ancient yew.

Mr. Solo misinterprets her silence as trepidation: “It isn’t too late to back out. If you like.”

“No, sir. I will attend.” He nods, satisfied.

Now that she has assured him of her participation, he looks her over. Rey sees his eyes wander downward, over her collarbone, where they linger for the briefest moment. She secretly shivers as she steps towards him.

Rey expects him to take her hand, or her arm, or something of that nature — she isn't sure of the exact etiquette. But instead, he places his palm on the small of her back.

Even through the layers of dress, she can feel the heat of his fingers.

“Ready?” His voice is smooth amber. She swallows.

“Yes, Ben,” she says.

The name falls so easily from her mouth. Later, she will wonder at how easily she slipped into her role. She will wonder at how easily _Mr. Solo_ became _Ben,_ first in her mouth, and eventually in her mind. And how easily they moved together.

...

The guests have gathered in the entryway of Hanna Hall, and Mr. Solo names them each in turn. Mr. Hux, Mr. Pryde, Miss Phasma, and Miss Netal. She looks each of them over, memorizing which names match which faces. The Force makes no motion around them, and she spots no suspicious voids in energy, so she assumes they aren't Force-sensitive. Her task will be easy, then.

Then again, there _is_ the matter of socializing. She can feel the weight of four gazes, some curious, some suspicious.

“So, Ren,” says the ginger man. Mr. Hux. “I assume _this_ is why you have spent so much time away from your duties as of late?” He looks Rey up and down, and she flushes.

“Almost as though _your_ face isn’t enough to tempt me, Hux,” Mr. Solo drawls. Out of view, he strokes Rey’s back reassuringly.

“No indeed! You can hardly expect _us_ to keep him entertained, Armitage.” Miss Netal steps forward and kisses Mr. Solo on the cheek. Rey stiffens. “It's a pleasure, Mrs. Walker," she says, holding out her hand to Rey.

“Likewise,” Rey says, taking the woman’s hand for the briefest possible moment. Miss Netal wears a wine-colored dress that fits her well. Rey leans towards Mr. Solo until her entire side presses against him.

She is falling into her role quickly. That would explain her more possessive impulses — and surely any mistress would act this way?

"And Snoke?" Mr. Solo asks.

"Mr. Snoke will arrive at the hour he chooses," says Mr. Pryde, an older man with pinched features and a dour expression. He reminds Rey of a humourless Jakku schoolmaster.

Mr. Solo's features tighten at this inconvenience, but he nods. Rey rolls the name over in her head. _Snoke._ Again, she senses revulsion from Mr. Solo, and frowns. Perhaps it would be best if this Mr. Snoke never made an appearance.

The group makes their way to the dining room.

Fortunately, food can always make Rey feel more at ease. She has been smelling Kaydel’s work all day, and it's all she can do not to shovel the rabbit soup in her mouth. She watches Mr. Solo out of the corner of her eye as she tries to mimic his table manners. She has never dined in fine society: every dinner at Hanna Hall has been spent with the twins.

Though she knows her job is to keep a close eye on their guests, Rey finds it difficult to keep her eyes off him. He has been coiled tight these past few days, his mood dark, their usual banter suddenly gone up in smoke. And yet he seems used to these people, at least. And surely anyone without the Force could be of no threat to him.

The conversation turns from light pleasantries to more serious matters, and suddenly realizes they are all looking at her.

"Can she be trusted?" Miss Phasma speaks for the first time: she’s the quietest of the lot, a tall blonde woman in a skirt and gentleman’s waistcoat.

"Pardon me?" Rey asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I trust her,” says Mr. Solo.

Mr. Hux snorts. Miss Phasma frowns, looking unconvinced.

Rey tries to look innocent and a bit dull. Easy enough, since she has only spoken when asked a question, preferring to focus on the fried fish. (Or, if she is honest with herself, she focuses on placing light touches on Mr. Solo's arm, thrilling in her newfound freedom to touch him so easily. And every time, she is rewarded when he glances towards her, leans towards her imperceptibly.)

Despite Mr. Hux and Miss Phasma's scepticism, Miss Netal launches into a bevy of thoughts and questions. Rey tries to follow the conversation, but she senses they are all deliberately veiling their words. All she gets is a sense of product moving, no doubt illegal, and of backroom deals.

This is _business_ , then. She can't say she completely approves. But she supposes every person must make a living somehow.

For a moment, she is distracted by the arrival of custard pudding. She hums as she takes a sinfully delicious bite. Kaydel is a genius.

Mr. Solo clears his throat and looks at her meaningfully, making a gesture. Her brow furrows, and he gestures towards her mouth. When she touches her face, she realizes she has cream at the corner of her lip. She automatically swipes at the cream with her thumb, then licks at her fingers.

She sees Mr. Solo's eyes darken, his jaw working slightly.

If she meets his gaze then, licks at her thumb more slowly, it's only to make her role of "mistress" more convincing.

"Snoke isn't pleased, Ren," Hux says, noticing their exchange with disgust. "You know he doesn't care for _pleasantries._ We're here to remind you of your duties. _"_

"Has he any reservations regarding the quality of my work?" Mr. Solo says, his voice hard as he breaks his gaze from Rey.

"Only of your loyalty."

"Well, you can see for yourself I only come here for personal business," he says. "So Snoke can be reassured."

...

After dinner, they retire to the drawing-room, stuffed and lazy. The room isn’t in its usual configuration. There is more furniture, for one, upholstered in rich brocades. And the fire is set to its finest roar.

Miss Netal makes a request of Mr. Mitaka, and he disappears, reappearing with five stemmed glasses, a pitcher of water, and a sugar bowl. He places the silver tray on a table next to the door.

To Rey’s fascination, Miss Netal produces a small bottle from her pocket, places a sugar cube in each glass, and pours green liquid into each. She tops the whole drink with water, so that the green turns pale and frothy.

It must be absinthe. One of the girls at Jakku claimed her cousin tried it once, and swore he went completely mad. But those were probably children’s stories.

Rey sits next to Mr. Solo on the settee, suddenly shy as she tries not to brush against him.

She gingerly takes the glass Miss Netal brings her. Ben shakes his head when he is offered the drink. Rey smiles to herself. She may be unused to parties. But Mr. Solo is _truly_ terrible at them.

“You must have been together _very_ long,” Miss Netal observes to Rey as she hands a glass to Mr. Hux. “You have the frigid air of an old married couple.”

Well. Apparently they hadn’t been playing their parts as well as she thought.

“Oh, I don’t wish to offend the present company,” Rey says, trying to take a smooth sip of the absinthe. She coughs as it goes down: this is no communion wine, even with all the sugar. She places the glass on a table beside the settee.

“Please, Miss Walker, I assure you, we are not at all wound up as tight as our dear moral overlords. In fact, I would call our moral _looseness_ a perk of the job, as it were.” Miss Netal places the last glass in Miss Phasma's hand, then settles on the arm of the blonde's chair, curling around her like a cat. Miss Phasma offers a smirk as Miss Netal idly strokes her hair.

“Some of us prefer to keep our activities in the bedchambers, Bazine,” Ben says stiffly.

“Is that so, _Ben_?” Rey says, keeping his name light on her tongue as she turns towards him. She gives him her most winning smile. “Surely you could make an exception for this evening.”

And it must be the absinthe, because before he can react, she has moved across the settee and is sitting in his lap.

He is warm and large and everything she wants at this moment, when she is completely sated. She forgets this is all a ruse. She feels drowsy, like her limbs are floating. The line running between them in the Force thrums deep and comforting, like the lowest note on the piano.

(And, of course, it _isn’t_ the absinthe. She barely tasted it, wanting to keep her senses sharp. And the alcohol would not affect her so quickly. )

Rey practically melts, but she can feel the caution in the Force from him. All his limbs go rigid as she nestles against him.

 _I’m just trying to keep up the ruse_ , she tries to project.

And then, a flutter at the tip of her mind, almost like a whisper: _Of course._ And he lets the air out of his lungs. He cautiously places his arms around her.

Only she can see how his hands tremble.

...

When Snoke arrives, Rey feels it in the Force. The man's aura isn't inert like the others. He is a sense of dread that disturbs her place in Mr. Solo’s lap, pools in her chest, a sense of growing unease that she cannot place... until Mr. Mitaka announces the final guest.

Mr. Snoke walks through the door, and the room falls silent. Everyone gets to their feet. He is old, his face pitted with scars and wrinkles. A thin film covers his eyes. He appraises Rey, the stranger.

Dimly, she is aware that Mr. Solo is making the introductions, she is nodding her head —

And almost instantly, her body is thrown into a universe of pain.

She has never felt any pain like this. The intrusion isn’t like the children’s attempt to read her mind, which caused tenderness only because they were inexperienced and clumsily, or like Ben, who entered like her memories were a fruit being eased off a vine. Snoke’s mind-trick is calculating and cruel. She feels her entire body go rigid, every muscle screaming in agony. She can barely keep her barriers up. She can barely think…

 _Not the children, not the children._ The mantra floats on the flood of pain. She can’t hold Snoke back forever. To keep him from finding out about the children, she will have to offer something valuable. Something to pique his interest. He must think he has found her most precious secret…

As her defences fall, she can only offer one thing: Mr. Solo and her.

Ben and her.

Meditation lessons, his hands positioning her back. Sparring in the woods behind the Hall.

And, closer to her heart: Ben appearing to her in the window above her bed at night, Rey pressing linen against his wounds, Rey healing him, Ben holding her wrist in the hallway, Ben’s body inches from hers in the billiards room…

Snoke shouldn’t be here, with his _decay_. Like a sepsis infecting all she holds dear. Her mind fills with white-hot anger.

But before she can push his presence out, it vanishes.

Her whole body aches. But she’s still standing, teeth clenched together.

Snoke, however, cares little for her state. He twists his head toward Ben.

“You didn’t inform me you had an apprentice, boy.” It's the first time she's heard his voice, dry and creaking like the hinge on a coffin. His tone is careless, as though remarking on a trivial missed appointment.

Ben doesn’t look at her, but all the blood has drained from his face. “I didn’t think she was ready to be…” He hesitates for a breath. “...presented.”

“Or your weaknesses reveal themselves again. Your _attachments_. You wish to keep her for yourself.”

Ben says nothing. He stands like an alabaster statue: perfectly still and cold.

“A weakness we must root out,” Snoke says softly, and Rey bites her tongue to keep from shouting. “Still, I am pleased with her progress.” He sits in the chair closest to the fire, and the group settles back down with him.

The conversation slowly resumes like a spooked deer emerging from the woods. But Rey says very little. Her entire energy is focused on Snoke, watching his every move and expression as he surveys the party. Ben stays similarly quiet. When she reaches out towards him with the Force, his mind is at its tightest fortress. And she dares not reach out again under Snoke’s twisted eye.

Why would Ben work for such a man? And what price must he have paid for Snoke’s favour? Rey’s stomach churns. She focuses on taking deep, even breaths. She clutches the mahogany arm of the settee, smooth under her fingers. Outside, the gentlest rain has begun to fall. The windows mist.

Her mind is churning, but she is still the first to notice an eddy in the Force.

A small change. Barely perceptible, and perhaps easy to dismiss. But Rey has felt this shift time and time again, so it stands out like a red banner in her mind, waving not from the drawing-room, but from a room at the top of the Hall.

It’s the change the Force makes when the twins are having a lightning fit.

They must be having a nightmare, lashing out with energy in their dreams. It has happened before, and with Snoke’s decay filling the air…

Horror makes Rey run ice cold.

Snoke can’t have noticed yet, he has made no move, he is speaking to Mr. Pryde, and the change is so faint, and he doesn’t suspect any secret other than an apprentice…

But they only have moments before Snoke notices. She glances at Ben, his face twisted with emotion…

 _Think, Rey, think._ She closes her eyes. She remembers.

First — from her readings for the twins, she knows that lightning occurs when the static in the clouds builds, until it (somehow) no longer resists the attraction to the charge on the ground, until something (somehow) cracks.

Second — when she closes her eyes, she can feel the storm brewing in the upper atmosphere, a cold churn in the darkness.

Third — to build the static, it’s all a matter of motion. Bits of cloud hit other bits of cloud. The bits of cloud are impossibly light, easy to hold and control with the Force even at this distance.

Finally — so if she uses the Force to seize the droplets, agitates the clouds like _this —_

And with a clap of thunder, a lightning bolt falls from the sky and hits the oak closest to the Hall.

Snoke’s eyes lock onto her, like a snake sensing prey.

The rest of the party runs towards the window, squinting through the glass and rubbing at the fogged panes. In the light coming from the Hall, they can make out the steaming wreckage of the great tree, cleaved clean in two.

Rey's eyes meet Snoke's, and she does not look away. The Force burns inside her triumphantly, and she cannot help the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. There's no sign of the restless children in the Force. Ben must have soothed their sleep as she distracted their guests.

“You should be heading out, before the storm worsens,” Ben says. “I am afraid we have no rooms prepared for guests.”

His tone holds the lightest threat. He gestures toward Mitaka, standing alert in a corner, who leaves to fetch cloaks and hats.

There is dead silence. Snoke breaks it by striding over to Rey. Her mind goes wild, she thinks perhaps he will strike her, but he only holds out a calling card.

“You will find that address useful, Miss Walker. Should you ever tire of the cage Kylo puts you in.”

Rey slips the card into her pocket without a glance. “You should go now,” she says. The Force roars inside her deliciously. She is no longer a governess, or mistress, or apprentice. She is some wild thing.

And, at least for the moment, Snoke goes.

...

Rey collapses on the settee in the drawing-room as Mr. Mitaka and Ben lead the party out. To her astonishment, she isn’t frightened. She is no longer nauseated or drained by her encounter with Snoke.

Instead, her body thrums with excitement. She feels so much: the rain beginning to fall, the crackling hearth, each with its heartbeat. When she feels this close to the Force, the smallest moments become wondrous.

In her distraction, she is barely conscious of Ben’s return. But then he is kneeling in front of her on the settee, gripping her by both her upper arms, almost hard enough to bruise.

“Did he hurt you? Rey, _did he hurt you_?” he snarls.

 _Your grip, sir —_ you _may be the cause of any pain,_ she wants to joke. She feels more alive than she ever has. But there’s something desperate in his eyes that keeps her serious. His shields have fallen, and the Force around him is a dizzying mix of emotion impossible to quantify. She shakes her head.

“And — the children —?”

“He knows nothing,” she says. “Only of our lessons.”

His grip lessens, but he still holds on to her arms. He looks at her like she is an apparition. A vision he is desperate not to lose.

“You manipulated the weather _._ You _halved an oak_ ,” he says hoarsely. Rey is brimming with the Force, almost drunk with the power of it, headier than any wine. She can do anything she pleases. What would please her? “You bril—”

Rey kisses him before he can finish.

She has surprised him, their teeth bump together, but that’s easily fixed by pulling back a millimetre, and suddenly they’re kissing in earnest, his plush lips part, her tongue slides into his mouth, his tongue gently caresses her in return. And this, Lord, _this_ — if she knew kissing him would be like _this_ she never would have waited so long. She moans against him, the Force swooning along with her.

Every point at which they touch feels charged, like the clouds still collecting lightning above them. He tastes like an impossible fruit, warm and dark and sweet. Like embers. Like coming home.

But then she pauses for breath, and the weight of what she is doing crashes down on her. She kissed her _employer_. Perhaps this is all against his will...

“Oh, I —” she squeaks, but this time _he_ caresses the back of her neck and pulls her back toward him with a growl. And they sink into the settee that way, devouring each other, the rain sighing against the panes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Rey's knowledge of lightning: in our universe, that degree of knowledge wouldn't be known until the 20th century. My reasoning here: in a society where some people can create lightning-like effects with the Force, there would naturally be increased scientific research investigating lightning as a natural phenomenon. (Also, I did it [for the cool](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/RuleOfCool), so...)
> 
>   
> **References**
> 
> Cheek kissing as greeting: I couldn't find any primary sources for this during my quick surface-level research, but apparently it was done between close people, though it was not necessarily seen in the best taste. 
> 
> Rey's dress: see the [2011 Jane Eyre adaptation](https://images.app.goo.gl/bjSUEyzCrWEVbg7z8) for the general shape. 
> 
> [Absinthe:](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Absinthe) _not_ a hallucinogenic that would make you crazy, as 19th-century critics would claim.
> 
> [A history of pockets](http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/articles/a/history-of-pockets/): in case you were wondering how Bazine could be carrying a small absinthe bottle.


	9. ix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **cw:** featherlight D/s dynamics, but the scenario could be triggering. Spoilers in the endnotes.

**ix.**

Rey is going to die.

She is going to die, and she is still fully clothed.

They are still on the settee. She is leaning back against one of the arms, Ben half-supporting himself on his elbows, half-leaning into her. The entire length of him pressed against her. Driving her wild.

He hasn't done anything but kiss her, and caress the back of her neck. But every touch of his tongue, his broad hand pulling her towards him, drives her closer to the brink. She feels fevered, hot and trembling. But still, she wants _more, more,_ a chant that weaves through the Force between them.

And then he moves to kiss the corner of her mouth, disarmingly soft compared to the bruising hunger of their first kiss. Then her cheek. Then her ear, lips trailing down her neck. And if she felt like she was going to die before, then each touch now brings her still closer towards that cliff to oblivion. And yet she would fling herself off willingly, again and again. So long as he keeps kissing her, so long as she can keep running her hands through his hair...

Rey is faintly aware of Ben muttering into her skin, puncturing each word with a searing kiss. She catches the end of a phrase: “— teasing me. All. Evening.”

Well. _That_ was unfair, the whole disastrous party was his fault. She opens her mouth to protest — but speaking is difficult when he has found a deliciously sensitive part below her ear, which he noses and kisses and sucks until her limbs go completely loose. Still, she brings the memory of her pinned against the billiards table to the forefront of her mind. She lets the Force show how _she_ wanted _him_ then, how she closed her eyes, waiting....

She squeaks when he nips her collarbone in response.

“— trying to be _honourable_ around my _governess_ — but you — Rey, you make it so _hard_ —,” he breathes hot against the indent of her neck.

“Then don’t be,” she gasps, dizzy with need. “Honourable.”

He rewards her for that, moving back to capture her mouth with a groan. His broad thumb brushes against the neckline of her dress. She moans, arcing her entire body up towards him, lightly biting his bottom lip. With every fibre of her being, she silently pleads — for what? She is incoherent with want.

He is wearing far too many clothes, her animal mind finally decides. She frantically fingers the buttons on his waistcoat — but he resists, he captures her wrists and pins her to the arm of the settee. She squirms in protest, trying to kiss him again, but he stays firm. He looks down at her, mouth red, blown pupils drinking her in. Rey bites her lip as she gazes back.

“I want you,” he says seriously. “In bed. Want you to be comfortable. Want to taste every part of you.”

Rey swallows, but nods. He releases her wrists. Her heart pounding, she waits for him to move off the settee.

But apparently, Ben is in no hurry to follow his own request. When Rey makes to wriggle out from beneath him, he growls, again his hands and mouth are everywhere at once. _One more taste…_

Through the Force, Ben knows what she needs. His large hand — the same hand that had once positioned her, braided her hair — worms beneath her, palms her backside through her dress. Wetness pools between her legs. She whines and squirms, trying to position his hand just so…

Ben freezes. Rey is about to object, but then she hears heavy footsteps creaking in the adjacent room. Mr. Mitaka has returned to clear the glasses.

 _Your room?_ His question in her mind.

 _Yes._ Her room is further away from the children.

They leave through the opposite door.

They make their way up the stairs with difficulty, since they are both loath to separate even for a moment. Ben constantly pulls her into alcoves and corners, tugging at her skirt, hungrily capturing her mouth. A shattered dam cannot hold the rush of water back. Now that the tension between them has ruptured, neither can Ben, neither can she. The Force sings at their contact. Pulling away leaves a dull ache. Thoughts swirl between them: _don’t leave me, don’t stop, please, don’t stop..._

And then they are in her room.

The intimacy of her chambers makes the situation real. It isn’t too late. Rey could write this off as a flight of passion. She could apologize and bid him goodnight, use her fingers as a sad substitute for him. No good has ever come from a governess becoming intimate with her employer.

But she isn’t the governess tonight.

And she has always been reckless. And maybe so has he.

Rey turns to Ben, who is watching her carefully. He stands close to the doorway, as though waiting for Rey to send him away. In the oil lamp's golden light, his expression is inscrutable.

With trembling hands, she undoes the first button of her bodice.

She hears the breath leave him.

She isn’t embarrassed, exactly. In fact, she is surprised at how little embarrassment she feels. But he looks at her so reverently that she feels shy as she undoes her bodice. Is this, then, how it happens? Is this the way any man would look at her? Rey isn’t ignorant of the logistics of sex: pornographic pamphlets were not unheard of at Jakku, passed around from girl to girl behind their minders’ backs. But nothing could prepare her for the way Ben looks at her.

He is committing every curve to memory. And Rey draws out her undressing, just to memorize the way he looks at her in turn.

(If this is only for one night -- if for one night, they pretend to be Rey and Ben instead of lowly Miss Walker and Mr. Solo -- then she could survive on that memory. She could open the tinderbox of her mind. She could use the memory of his eyes on her to light a flame.)

And then she is naked in front of him.

She expects him to undress in turn, but instead he takes a slow step forward. Then another. Time slows.

And his mouth is back on hers, his hands on her breasts. Her heart speeds up again. His hands are urgent on her skin, on her ass, electricity running through the Force. Rey edges him on with little moans, trying to keep from waking the household. Ben rumbles his dissatisfaction with that — _want to hear you_. But he focuses on exploring her body, as though leaving any inch unmapped would be the gravest sin. They’re standing next to the bed.

Then one finger brushes against her entrance. The softest touch, like a petal landing on skin. Still, she is almost lost then. Her legs give way.

He groans at her reaction, one hand on her ass as he hoists her onto the bed. The swiftness of the motion makes her head spin, she reaches for him…

But he stands out of reach, offering her a smirk as he begins to undo the buttons of his waistcoat.

Rey is disappointed he has stopped touching her, but pleased that he’s removing his clothes. Her lips sneak into a smile as she watches from the bed, his chest coming into view, then his navel. And when she finally sees his cock, standing hard and red… _well_.

That would do nicely.

He joins her on the bed. As he runs his hands through her hair and strokes her thighs, Rey kisses every feature of his face, his chest. That mole next to his nose she has longed to touch. The curve of his large ears. The healed-over scars.

She is so preoccupied that she hardly notices his hands moving up her thigh. But then his finger brushes her clit, and her mind is set aflame...

“Rey.” His breath is ragged. “So perfect. So wet for me --”

She throws her head back, gasping. His mouth swallows her noises as he strokes her, _plays_ her like an instrument. But she needs _more_ , needs him to feel the pleasure too. Her hands fumble at his waist until they brush against his cock. It's gloriously warm and thick; her inexperienced fingers wrap around his girth. He bites her shoulder as she gives an experimental tug, and she thrills at that. Knowing he feels what she feels. Knowing he also struggles to keep quiet. Knowing they are equals in this, like when they fight with sabres.

But all too soon he pulls her hand off him, eyes blazing. _Not yet, not yet,_ the Force tells her. He keeps his hand at her cunt as he runs his nose down the curve of her. Not kissing. Just brushing, just nuzzling, moving all the way down to her —

He stops. His hand is gone. Rey can feel his hot breath against her most sensitive area. She grips the sheets, the waterfall of her own pulse filling her ears…

"I said I wanted to taste every part of you," he says in that deep voice that makes her gush.

“ _P-please_ ,” she stutters.

And then his mouth is on her cunt, and she has to fling her hand to her mouth to hold back the shout.

How has she never known her body's capacity for sensitivity? Twenty-eight years spent living, but she may as well have been a numb corpse. And now she has come alive. Ben’s mouth on her, the Force showing him what she likes best, tracing spots that make her bite back moans. She is exquisitely aware of the nerves running through her. Every lick and suck, every rumbling groan from his lips, shoots pleasure from head to toe.

He slides a finger inside her. Then another. She almost weeps in relief. His fingers are so much larger than hers, she feels impossibly full, verging on too much, pleasure and pain…

It’s obscene, the noises they both make. The wetness.

She feels through the Force that Ben has his cock in his other hand, palming it as he devours her. She can feel his pleasure mixing with hers.

A fire grows brighter and brighter inside her. No — two fires growing together, impossible to distinguish. She has always been greedy. She will never get enough of the heat.

The rain has picked up, the sound filling the room. Rey thinks she may be made of light.

She thinks Ben might be made of light too.

And her spine arches — her thighs quake — her cunt clenches around his fingers —

she comes, she _comes_ —

bites into her palm to keep from screaming — Ben licks her through it — he groans — _Rey_ — and she thinks: _Yes_ —

and she _feels_ him come in the Force, like a second wave crashing through her.

Slowly, her heart and breathing come down. The room comes back into full focus.

"Is it always like that?" she asks, still in a daze.

"Absolutely not,” Ben says, collapsing next to her. “I am the only one in the world that can do that to you.”

“Arrogant.” But she giggles. His spend has left a wet patch on the bed, but she can’t bring herself to care. She loves the mess they made between them.

She turns on her side towards him. His eyes are closed. “Again?” she asks, nudging his shoulder. If they are to have the night, she can think of _other_ things he can do with his cock. She would like to avoid pregnancy, yes, but surely there were ways to work around that.

“Insatiable, as usual,” he snorts. “Give me a moment.”

A wicked smile stretches across her face as she projects her _ideas_ into his head.

His eyes fly open. “Perhaps a short moment.”

She laughs again as she gets out of bed, leaving him to recover. She places the grey dress in the armoire to keep it from wrinkling: it had cost her a good amount of coin. And then, as she returns to the bed, an object on the floor catches her eye. Snoke’s card. It must have fallen out of her pocket.

Rey picks it up and places it on the vanity, but the reminder of the evening’s events leaves her pensive. The glow inside her fades slightly.

“He said he was ‘pleased by my progress,’” she muses out loud.

Ben sighs heavily. “Yes. Snoke has an appetite for recruitment. He is drawn to Force adepts.”

And then realization comes crashing down on Rey like an avalanche of ice. And any warmth left in her extinguishes.

She had been terrified for Karina and Harrison, and so had Ben. Rey thought Snoke could potentially hurt the twins, or use them as leverage against his employee. She had assumed that was why Ben had kept them hidden, and for good reason. But that wasn’t the issue. The twins weren’t appealing to Snoke because they were Ben’s children.

They were appealing to Snoke because they were powerful in the Force.

And Snoke was powerful in _decay_ , in festering everything she held most dear. Her memories rotted in his mind. Snoke had tortured her with no more than a glance. The _pain_ she had felt. To imagine the children in the grip of such a man...

She retches into the washbasin. Ben is on his feet, at her side as she rinses her mouth with water in the pitcher. She knows he can see her realization in the Force, and she is filled with white-hot anger. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You _work for him_ ," she spits. "That monster who would take children as gifted as Karina and Harrison and mould them into his twisted image.”

“Rey, listen to me.” But she doesn’t want to listen, she turns her head, feeling vulnerable in her nakedness. He takes her hand, holding her fingers firm. “Listen.”

She wrenches away, and he doesn't fight her. But he also doesn't leave. He only sits on the edge of the bed, watching as she pulls clothing back on until she feels semi-decent again. When she hands him his own articles, he does not resist. He puts them on.

But she has never felt desperation like this from the Force. So when they are both dressed, when she is certain he will not yet try to touch her again, she lets him speak. And, still sitting on the edge of the bed, he slowly begins to tell his story.

“I was born to a family of Force-sensitives. My mother had it, and my uncle, and my grandfather before them. Most families would see this as a blessing, a sign of their superiority over lesser men.” He gives a humourless laugh. Rey remembers Mrs. Kanata’s words, _doesn’t give a fig for high society_. “But the Force brought little joy to my family. My grandfather — perhaps you have seen his portrait, in the study —”

Rey nods. The portrait is not a central feature of the room, the frame is pushed off to a corner, but she remembers it well. A young man, with dark, intense eyes. Not unlike Ben’s: she had immediately seen the family resemblance.

“He was… not a good man,” Ben exhales. “They say he killed his wife. They say the Force was a sort of sickness in him, a darkness. For many years, this was kept from me, as though knowledge of the darkness could be contagious.

“I was a difficult child. Prone to moods. Not unlike Karina and Harrison, I suppose, though my fits manifested themselves as fire rather than lightning. My parents saw this as the potential seeds of Force sickness and were concerned.

“When I was ten, they brought my uncle Luke to live at the Hall. He had trained others in the Force. He subscribed to a philosophy where lightness was an opposing eddy in the Force, which could suffocate the darkness. I trained with him every day. For a while, at least, my fits seemed to lessen, though they never disappeared completely, and as I grew older their manifestation was sometimes worse. Still, my parents were pleased.

“And then my mother died." His voice breaks. Rey longs to go to him but holds back as he composes himself. "When I was fifteen. It was very sudden, at least to me. She had hidden her sickness well. One day, she was laughing and urging me to braid her hair, the next I stood next to the coffin as they buried it in the ground."

Rey imagines him at fifteen. He would have been gangly, no doubt. A lone figure standing in a graveyard, under an uncaring sky.

“My… rages became more frequent,” he says, clearing his throat. He speaks quickly now. “My uncle feared the darkness had overtaken me completely and declared he was unsuited to be my instructor — I think he was afraid of me, afraid that I would use any further instruction toward evil ends, perhaps to his credit" — again, the laugh without humour -- "and disappeared into the wilderness to seek ‘enlightenment.’ I haven’t heard from him since. Only my father and I remained at Hanna Hall, and we were very different in temperament. We were both stubborn in our grief. My father had loved my mother deeply, she had married below her station for love of him. Some days we argued, some days we hardly spoke, and he would go out hunting while I shut myself in the study.

“When I was fifteen, Snoke sought me out. Perhaps my grandfather’s power was that renown. Or perhaps rumours of the difficult Solo boy had spread throughout the countryside. In any case, Snoke had a different philosophy than my uncle, one where the darkness could be used as a fuel. The promise of control, a way to finally put my fits to use, was addictive. And he spoke to the voice I’ve always had in my head, edging me forward, feeding the darkness. I spent more and more time learning from him.

“My father never approved. Our arguments grew louder and more frequent. During one, he accused me of killing my mother, because I caused her so much stress. He hadn’t meant it — he immediately tried to apologize — but it was too late. The Force raged through me, burst out in a great flame…"

The memory floods through Rey: she had seen it in his mind, during her interview. The smoke and iron. The rage. _The branches of the trees crawl into the house._ She remembers scorch marks on the ruins of the southside, those silent stones, and shivers.

“The south wing burned. With my father and me in it. Only I survived. And Snoke was there to help me from the ashes.” His face is pale, his hands are shaking.

She cannot help speaking then, not when he is so distraught. “It wasn’t your fault," she says, sitting next to him on the bed. "Ben, you _must_ know it wasn't your fault. Would you blame Karina and Harrison if they caused such an accident?”

“I was older than Karina and Harrison," he rasps. "I had training. And in the moments before...I wanted him to die.”

She looks at his bowed head, longing to press him to her chest. But what happened is beyond Rey's power to heal in this moment. And she must hear the whole story.

“So you did…” Her throat feels tight. “...things for Snoke.”

“Yes.”

“Crimes.”

“Yes.”

“Murder.”

“Yes.” He does not defend himself from any accusation.

“And when you came home bleeding..." Rey works through her thoughts. "I assume that must have been some rival biting back —”

“No. That was Snoke. He had begun to notice I lingered at Hanna. I was distracted in my missions, I made mistakes. He was" — a pause, his jaw working — "...displeased. To Snoke, pain is instructive.”

The rage Rey feels at that! She should have killed Snoke as soon as he passed the threshold of the Hall. But she channels her anger, biting back at Ben.

“And you brought him into this house. You were one of his personal projects, so you _knew_ ," she says through gritted teeth. "If he had found out about the children’s powers...” The thought is too terrible to contemplate. She feels bile rise in her throat.

“I know." He raises his head, eyes like a wounded animal. "I _know_. Rey, I swear, I have been trying to leave Snoke’s employment from the moment I set eyes on the children. I was ready to leave them with their aunt, or hire someone to house them or care for their needs, but I’m not a strong man. If I were a strong man, I wouldn’t have killed my father. I wouldn’t have done all the horrors I’ve done for Snoke. But I’m a monster, and a coward: when I saw Karina and Harrison, they reminded me of how difficult it was, to have all this power just explode out. And I was drawn to them. They needed me. It was like waking from a nightmare and seeing the moon full outside the window. Like a fool, I saw another life. I had to take them in."

Rey says nothing.

“I knew I could not care for them and work for Snoke without putting them at risk,” he continues, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “But Snoke is not an easy man to cross. There is no real freedom for those that leave his employment. He hunts them down, leaves the wreckage of their lives and families in his wake. If I want to leave forever, I must take him with me.”

“So you plan to kill him.” Relief floods through her: he will leave that world of violence, Snoke will be dead, all will be as it should. But Ben looks unsure and sombre.

“I will try. But he is strong. Perhaps too strong, and in that case…”

“A suicide mission,” Rey says, heart racing.

“If it should come to that,” he says lightly.

“A suicide mission if you are alone, perhaps,” Rey reasons, eagerness rising in her. “But you have me now, and my sabre. Together, surely we would stand a chance if you let me help you — ”

“No, Rey: I cannot risk you,” he says stubbornly. “The children need to be protected. I leave a considerable inheritance: if I am gone, they will need a guardian to protect their interests. And to guard them against others who would exploit their connection to the Force.”

Rey frowns. Some strange emotion builds in him, something she cannot identify, wide like the sea.

“There is a way, I think," he says slowly. "You could inherit Hanna Hall in the event of my passing, so you could care for the children without question to your authority. No one would question you,” he takes a deep breath. He meets her gaze. “If you would marry me.”

And the world falls out from beneath Rey.

It's an exquisite cruelty, this. A secret part of her had dreamed of this moment. She had nursed the dream of _Ben and Rey_ like a precious seed hidden in the ground, as though the dream might germinate inside her. And now: this sweetest dream grows so beautifully. It has borne fruit. But if she wants a taste, she will find the fruit bitter, filled with poison.

Something cracks inside her. She shrinks away from Ben, her eyes welling with tears.

“No — _no_ , you cannot — do you think I am without _feeling_?" she cries. "Do you think that because I am a governess, poor and desperate, that I would accept such a plan without question?”

Surely he cannot be so cruel. But his silence makes her shoulders quake, and the tears fall freely now.

“I — I care for you,” she cries, burying her face in her hands. “And you would leave to — Ben, the _children_.”

“I know.” He touches her shoulder cautiously. “But I have tried to —” his voice breaks, but only for a moment. “I have said it would be best if they were not to become attached. They are young: they will recover.”

Hurt makes her brutal, but she is overwhelmed, she cannot help it: “Yes, as you recovered from the death of your mother, as they are recovering from the death of theirs so _well_.”

“Karina and Harrison love you,” he says with devastating coolness. He withdraws his hand, but will not take her bait. “They scarcely know me.”

She knows that isn’t true, but there is no convincing him. Not when he is so firm in his conviction. “And what about me?” she whispers, feeling like a petulant child.

“You are young, and you would have considerable wealth. You could remarry someday.”

She hates his logic. She hates the evenness in his voice. She wants to slap him. “I will not marry a man only to become a widow,” she says, collecting herself, sitting straight. She glares defiantly.

Her newfound sureness seems to awaken something in him; his face twists, he places a hand on her knee.

“Rey — please, I beg you. Since the moment I saw you on the road, I was bewitched. You were so unexpected, and light, and the way you needled at me… you lodged yourself in my brain. And the _pull_ I feel toward you. I’ve thought of nothing but you since then.”

“You only saw a way to make your exit," she says bitterly. "To indulge some foolhardy plan for heroics.”

“No," he clutches her hand, though he stays apart on the bed. "Rey, this plan only came to me after this evening, when you confronted Snoke — you were so brave, so golden and savage and — if I saw any other way, if I could possibly have you forever, I would. Rey, I — I _love_ you.”

Her heart swells. The rain will be making channels in the lawn by now, washing the windows of the greenhouse, making the world sparkle with newness.

But then: _if you truly loved me, you would not ask me to play a part that would break me in two._ She is not angry now, only filled with a vast sorrow. She erects a barrier in her mind before the thought slips out. Henceforth, she will be impenetrable to him.

He shifts towards her. The sheets rustle. “Let me have you, at least for a moment in time,” he whispers. He strokes the nape of her neck, pulls her close to him. His forehead rests against hers. Their lips don’t touch, but she can feel his breath on her mouth and trembles. “Before I go, let me take care of you. Be my wife.”

Rey closes her eyes and tries to steady her heart. She holds firm in the Force, but his hands and voice are so warm…

She hardens her defences.

“Rey. The other half of my soul. Please don’t lock yourself away.” His voice is hoarse, frantic. He kisses the corner of her mouth like a man on the brink of madness. She almost surrenders, then. How easy it would be to lose herself in him. Easy to let him pull her back into bed, let him kiss her, and stroke her. Easy to pretend.

But she cannot pretend. Not when she truly loves him.

“Leave me, sir,” she says, and she is proud that her voice stays firm. “I must consider your offer.”

His grip tightens on her, and for a moment she fears he will refuse. She closes her eyes again, half-wanting him to pull her close again. But then his hands are gone. And when she opens her eyes, he is at the doorway.

“Wait,” she calls, without knowing what she wants. He stops in his stride, a glimmer of hope in his stance. And then, through the Force, the question comes to her. “When you interviewed me, that first evening, I saw into your mind. I heard a voice calling your name. But it wasn’t your father. It was a woman.”

He sighs. His shoulders fall. The lamplight shines on the dark fabric of his back. “Yes. I suspect it was some hallucination from the heat and smoke.” His voice is so tired. “But, yes, in the fire, I heard my mother’s voice.”

...

It does not take Rey long to come to a decision. What choice does she have? When the man she.. when _he_ is Karina and Harrison’s guardian. When she is the governess, and therefore by nature fleeting, and temporary. And the _pain_ she feels when she imagines living without —

A red string tightens around her core. At any moment, her heart might be wrenched from chest.

She could no more resist the urge to save them than a fish could choose to leave the pond. Rey knows what she must do.

She is still sealed to the Force. The floor is cold on her feet when she rises from the bed. She is outside her body, watching herself. The other Rey goes to the armoire. The other Rey dresses in sensible clothing for a long journey to London, in her sturdiest shoes. The other Rey takes out the box that holds her sabre, takes out the scabbard and belt she has never used. Takes Snoke’s card from the vanity and slips it into her pocket. Dons her cloak over the sabre.

Rey weaves silence around her with the Force as she leaves her room. She moves down the hall, past Ben’s room — is he awake, would he stop her? _No, Rey, you must steel your heart against that, you must feel nothing, lest he sense you_ — past the room when the children are still dreaming, down the stairs. She is completely silent. She does not hesitate.

She becomes the ghost of Hanna Hall.

_In another life, sir..._

As she leaves, the rain and the moonless road swallow her up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **cw spoilers:**  
>    
>  Ben and Rey making out and Rey tries to take off Ben’s clothes. Ben pins her wrists to the settee to stop her. She tries to wriggle away so she can keep undressing him, but he keeps her pinned. He suggests they move thing to the bedroom.She agrees, and he releases her, only to change his mind and hold her down again so he can keep kissing her, which she loves.
> 
> I know, they still haven’t ‘technically’ fucked.And now things are sad. Please don’t kill me. *dodges tomatoes* *points to the Happily Ever After tag*


	10. x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **cw:** blood
> 
> Since it's been a hot minute...
> 
>  **Chapter 9 Recap:** Rey found out Ben came under Snoke's employment because he struggled to control his powers like Karina and Harrison, especially after Leia's death. Eventually, he accidentally killed Han after an argument over his closeness to Snoke. Ever since he brought Karina and Harrison to Hanna Hall, however, he has been plotting to leave Snoke's employment, since if Snoke found out about the twins they would become his new "project" like Ben was. But Ben is cautious about attacking Snoke directly. Ben thinks he will die in the process, which would leave Karina and Harrison vulnerable to other Snoke-like figures. Rey, however, provides a solution: she could marry Ben, and then inherit the estate if Ben dies, which means she will have full authority to care for and protect the children. Rey is upset at his hero-complex and turns his proposal down, even though he says he is in love with her. She sneaks out of Hanna Hall in the dead of night, presumably to confront Snoke. She has a calling card Snoke gave with his address in London.

By the time Rey walks into the nearest village, she is soaked through and shivering. The residents know her — she often runs errands for Mrs. Kanata — but they still eye her with suspicion. She has arrived too early and in bad weather. She is a person out of place.

Nonetheless, she walks up to the inn. A woman, blond curls threatening to escape from her cap, is taking advantage of a break in the rain to mop the stoop in the dawn light. Rey inquires after the party, claiming that Miss Netal left a ring behind at Hanna Hall.

"They left in the earliest hours," the woman says without a hitch in her mopping. "There will be no catching them now."

She is too late, then.

Rey has no plan, only a sense of confrontation and violence. She felt the matter must be quick, or at least that is what her burning determination told her. But now, there is no chance of ending this affair swiftly. The enormity of the task before her widens in a chasm. She feels the card in her pocket, the inscription seared into her mind: 32 Ilum Place, London.

"If I wanted to go to London, how would I manage that?" Rey asks before her resolve leaves her.

The woman seems surprised at Rey's question, and suspicious of some new motive. But it would be rude to sever conversation now.

"You could walk to H—," she suggests. "A stagecoach to E— should be along in the next two hours, if he is not delayed, and then I suppose you would take the train from there to London. I have never done so myself, but my cousin did so once, fancied seeing the sights."

There is nothing for it. Without another word, Rey leaves the front of the inn and begins to walk the distance to H—. Her feet ache, but nothing she cannot endure.

She pushes through the mud and fields, the rain starting up again.

...

And then, finally, Rey sits in the stagecoach as it rocks along. An elderly woman with an oversized bonnet sits fast asleep across from her. Her grandson snores beside his grandmother.

Rey can feel her own lids drifting.

She grits her teeth and digs her nails into her palm, forcing her eyes open.

The events of the previous evening drained her, and Rey did not have a chance to sleep before fleeing. But she can barely keep the bond to him closed even when awake. The more she cuts herself off, the more desperate the Force grows, like a bird caught in a snare. If she falls asleep, if she can no longer fight, she knows the Force will reach out to him immediately. He will find her.

So she wills herself to stay awake. Her nails leave red crescents on her skin.

_Rey. The other half of my soul._

She shudders at the memory of his words, his breath ghosting over her lips as he uttered them. Perhaps it would be easier not to forget. _Forgetting_ would be impossible. Instead, she can convince herself that Ben (no, Mr. Solo, she should not think of him as Ben) did not _mean_ his words. Yes, that is right: he had been caught up in the moment. So had she. And she is only a tool for him, after all, the final key to his plans for Snoke…

But Rey has never been a tool suited to others’ uses. If someone tells her she is an awl, she will strive to be a handsaw.

She looks out at the countryside. Another unrecognizable field, but much like all the others.

An hour passes. The sabre hangs heavy at her waist.

The children are not easier to think about, exactly. But they are safer memories, with less likelihood of opening up a window. So Rey thinks of Karina beaming at the sabre, Harrison pouring over battle maps he drew himself. Or, more likely: both of them chewing their pencils in boredom during lessons, then debating like lawyers when she proposes a disagreeable assignment.

But also: their soft breathing as they slept beside her that one night. Karina flung her limbs as though she could claim the mattress through conquest. Harrison ended up in a tight ball at the foot of the bed.

She would change nothing about her memories of them. Even their lightning spells are precious to her.

Which is why she will return. She made the children a vow she cannot break. She will do what she must with Snoke, and then she will return.

Another hour. A break at the coaching inn to change horses. Rey hides behind her teacup. The strange woman still half-damp and travelling alone.

Another hour. Another. Endless hours. The small city. The train station, the largest she has ever seen. She follows the example of more experienced passengers as she purchases a ticket and boards the train. Wind whips through the open windows. Endless hours sitting on the wooden benches of the train car. But the landscape begins to change. London still rushes toward her.

...

Rey knows grime and swirls of people. Niima is a factory town, after all. But Niima is a quiet pond next to London. London hits her like the sea, a wave that nearly drags her under.

She stands to the side of the main thoroughfare outside the station, watching the mass of passerby all with important business. After a few moments, seeing no better choice, Rey joins the fray. She lets an eddy of people pull her along, keeping her head down and a hand in her pocket.

The eddy pulls her in the direction of a coach, which the people then board, handing the driver a few coins as they do so. And now she sees there are more coaches, and more people boarding, packed in so tightly that arms hang out the window. In this way, Rey learns about the omnibuses.

It is difficult to know which one to take. She tries to speak to the coachmen, but they are in a rush and impatient. A wild-eyed gentleman in bedraggled clothes offers directions in exchange for coin. But when she takes the bus, the stop he suggested never comes. Rey wanders around the new neighbourhood, hopelessly stranded.

There are fewer people here, the street more suited to residences than shops. But the coaches still rush through, horse-hooves clopping. She stands clear of the traffic on a corner, biting her lip and trying to decide what to do.

As she considers, she feels a familiar prick at the back of her neck. The Force. Even though her mind is closed, she sensed it several times on the omnibus: Force-sensitives in the swirl of city rushing by, each signature unique. She turns her head and spots two gentlemen on the other side of the street, watching her. Her hand slides beneath her cloak, onto the hilt of her sabre as they approach.

“My friend says you could use some help,” the first man says, brushing wavy brown hair out of his eyes. His dress and manner is casual as he gestures toward his companion. The second man is Black, dressed more formally, and looks at Rey with wariness. “He has a certain... knack for detecting those in need." When Rey doesn't respond, the man sighs, yielding to formality: "I’m Poe Dameron. This is Finn Rivers.“

Rey considers them. No harm in getting directions, she supposes. Although she can sense the Force around Mr. Rivers, he was kind to notice her distress. And she always has her sabre should things go south. “I’m looking for 32 Ilum Place,” she says. "Do you know it?"

The men exchange glances. “Odd place for a woman from out of town to be looking for,” Mr. Dameron says, frowning. “They don’t take many visitors.”

“I was invited,” Rey says stiffly. She doesn't ask how he knows she isn't from London: she must look like a fish out of water. But still, she holds out Snoke's card for inspection.

They both pour over the card. “You’re a friend of the residents, then,” Mr. Dameron states.

“No. I’m no friend of theirs,” she says, raising her chin and looking them both in the eye. Mr. Rivers relaxes at her sure tone.

“And you’re certain that’s where you want to go.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t think —” Mr. Dameron begins, but Mr. Rivers interrupts.

“We’ll show you,” he says, speaking for the first time, nudging Mr. Dameron. And they do, leading Rey through the hive of London.

...

The shadows grow long. Sunset comes late at this time of year, but Rey has travelled all day. She stands outside the townhome nestled between other homes in a nondescript part of town. The house is large, but the neighbourhood is neither particularly rich nor particularly poor. Mr. Dameron and Mr. Rivers left her at the entrance an hour ago, after she waved them off despite their protestations. But she still hasn't knocked on the door. She has watched, and waited.

But she has little knowledge to show for her patience. No one goes in and no one goes out. She cannot see any movement at the windows. It looks like a place abandoned.

Finally, Rey decides there is nothing for it. Pulling the card from her pocket, she strides up the steps. She grabs the iron door knocker shaped like a lion, and gives it two sharp raps.

The door cracks open.

"I'm here to see Mr. Snoke," she says, and the door immediately begins to close.

"Look, I have his card," she says, thrusting the slip of paper in the path of the closing door. The closing stops. The door swings open for her.

She steps through to an ordinary entry way, though more dim than most at this hour. The figure who answered the door might have been mistaken for an ordinary servant, save for the black mask that obscures his eyes. Rey tries to look unconcerned as he walks to a second man standing further down the hall, whispering in his ear. The second man leaves, while the first man returns to stand next to Rey.

Clearly, she is supposed to wait, and she does so, tapping a foot and pretending to look at the landscape paintings that line the wall. She tries giving the masked man a pleasant smile, but receives no response.

Eventually, a familiar figure emerges from an opposing door: the tall, imposing Miss Phasma in her waistcoat. She doesn’t seem surprised to see Rey. But then again, the blonde had been the hardest of the group to read.

"Miss Walker," she says. "Mr. Snoke has been expecting you. This way." And she strides forward, Rey at her heels.

Inside 32 Illum Place, Rey loses her sense of orientation. The townhome is bigger than it appears. Snoke’s domain must occupy 31 Illum Place, and 33 too: perhaps it spans the entire block. Some windows are papered over, some are open, so Rey gets only glimpses of the city outside, like stray pieces of a puzzle. She sees other pieces of the puzzle, too: strange rooms; strange people in black masks that cover their eyes, with only the finest mesh to see through. Miss Phasma leads her up stairs, down stairs. Rey can no longer even be sure she is above ground; the building might extend into the very bowels of London.

As they walk, Rey feels the same malevolent presence that visited Hanna Hall. A decay presses up against her mind but does not enter, and is all the more sinister for it. Snoke is somewhere in this maze; his card did not lie.

Eventually, however, they reach a door at the end of a long corridor. Miss Phasma nods at the masked guard in the hallway, who steps aside for her. The tall woman swings open the door, gesturing for Rey to step through.

The room is a surprise after the austerity of the halls. All Rey sees is red at first: the colour of the furniture and wallpaper shot with gold leaves and curlicues. As her eyes adjust, she sees a bed, an armchair, and a washbasin.

"Wait here," Miss Phasma tells her shortly. "Mr. Snoke will call for you when he is ready." And when she closes the door to leave, Rey hears a key turning in the lock.

The appointments are fine: the canopy above the bed is real silk, and the brass lamps are ornate. There is even scented soap next to the washbasin. She washes her hands and face with water from the pitcher. There's no sense in wasting the chance to scrub the journey's grime off her skin.

Rey isn't a fool. She knows she is a prisoner, or a prisoner of sorts. She can hear a guard shifting his feet at her door. They don't trust her in this place, even if they leave her with her sabre -- why? Out of respect for her purported relationship with Mr. Solo? At Snoke's request?

Perhaps they want her to drop her guard, and they know she can hardly cut through the entire hive. She has no idea how many people are in the building, or how many rooms, or where Snoke might be. So all she can do is wait, sitting on the bed, tracing the embroidery with her fingertips.

She waits for a long time in the room with the narrow windows high on the wall.

Eventually, she tries to nudge through the adjacent rooms in her mind, so she can get a sense of the place. But as soon as she opens herself up cautiously to the Force, the walls close in on her like a trap —

_She is seven, and the room with the red walls scares her. Her mother tells her a man died in that room. No person sleeps in that bed, and the servants will only clean it under threat of docked pay._

_Rey has been a bad child. She bit the neighbour's boy, who mocked her for staring into space as she tried to use the Force to pluck fruit from the trees on the outskirts of town. Her behaviour reflects badly on her mother. And, kicking and screaming, she is dragged to the red room. The only thing Rey fears. She knows there must be a ghost in the room, and she is locked there with it._

_In the dim light of the room, evening falling, her breath comes quickly. She feels like a great black dog sits on her chest. Each breath doesn’t bring in enough air. She knows she will die this way, the ghost is wrapping its fingers around her neck…_

_She no longer has voice enough to scream. Shaking, she backs into a corner, then sinks to the floor. She clutches her knees close. She is seven, the walls are red, the light is falling. She is seven, no one will let her out, she is seven…_

Rey. I'm coming.

_A voice in the dark, but not a ghost. Someone who loves her. A gentle hand on her back. She isn’t seven after all, she no longer lives in the house with the red room…_

The trap releases. And for the first time since she left Hanna Hall, Rey sleeps. A dark, dreamless sleep, and edged with danger. But still warm.

...

Rey wakes up with a start. Her neck aches: she has slumped on the bed awkwardly. She can't have slept for long. She hardly feels well-rested.

Someone is knocking at the door; she jumps to her feet, clutching at her sabre. But her visitor is only one of those strange masked men (or women?), carrying a tray of tea, toast, and marmalade.

The guard places a tea tray on a small next to the bed. But she won't eat the food. She doesn't trust it, even though she is ravenous.

A flare of anger pushes through her fatigue. Rey tires of waiting, tires of this place with its scented soap and long hallways and darkness gnawing at her mind. She won't play more of Snoke's games. So she does the only thing she can think of, stepping towards the guard before they turn away.

"You will leave to fetch a fresh pot of boiling water," she intones, waving a hand in front of their face. "You will leave the door unlocked. You will take a long time." She imbues her words with the Force, pushing impatiently.

To her delight, the guard repeats these actions back to her and does as she instructs. When she reaches for the door after they leave, the handle turns smoothly. A good mind-trick, if she does say so herself. And her first time, too! She walks down the hallway smugly, keeping quiet and retracing her steps.

If Snoke will not call her, she will go to _him_.

The great complex is a maze. Rey ducks into corners or using mind-tricks to avoid being seen, using only the smallest traces of the Force. She doesn't want to tap in completely, wary of her previous experience. And she still must keep Mr. Solo out and away.

Still, even though Snoke's location remains uncertain, Rey feels better in motion. She has always relished physicality, the chance to keep her senses sharp and honed. And the sabre feels like a promise at her side, almost leaping into her hands.

But then she rounds a corner recklessly.

And Mr. Solo is standing there in the hallway. And she nearly loses her footing.

...

The Force has always told her of his presence, Rey realizes. It is as though she has a third eye reserved only for him. As though the texture of the world bends around him. Rey has rarely been surprised by his presence, but because she sealed herself off (or because he sealed himself from her, a wretched thought), the sight of him now jolts through her like electricity. She cannot help the breath that escapes in a shuddering half-sob.

The movement of his throat as he swallows transfixes Rey. His fingers twitch, his gaze stirs, but then the tension fades. His face hardens to stone.

"Mr. Snoke sends for you, Miss Walker." He is so stiff, so expressionless. He doesn’t quip that she is not in the waiting room. So unlike the man that once teased her. Is this who he is in this place? Snoke folds everything she loves about him into the cold edge of a knife.

But Rey can be a knife too. And she hates Snoke more than ever now.

But how did Mr. Solo find her? And what will they do when they meet Snoke? And what of the children?

 _Leave_ , her mind wants to tell Mr. Solo.

 _Stay_ , cries her body. _Touch me._

She wants to call him Ben.

But because he caught her like this, her mouth says nothing. His mind is guarded, but so is hers. She follows him further into the dark of the complex, drinking in the slope of his shoulders. Focusing on the spot on his neck she longs to kiss. She will allow herself this. Even as she holds back everything else inside her, here, at the apex of all things still to come.

...

All too soon they arrive at the entrance to the room where Snoke sits. Rey can feel a cold damp wafting from the room, like the entrance to a crypt. And for the first time, Mr. Solo hesitates. He looks back at her.

She cannot read the vast emotion in his eyes, the way he searches her face, gaze tracing her mouth. She cannot say whether he is trying to convey some plan. _I would follow you anywhere, sir,_ she projects to his silent mind. For a moment in time, his gaze softens _._

And then they walk through the threshold together.

They stand on the top floor. Above them, the ceiling is made of glass. The night sky in London is clouded and starless. But Rey can still make out glimpses of the full moon beyond a great chandelier. And below the chandelier with its thousand candles: Snoke. Eight men in red leather armour and masks, carrying weapons: axes and polearms and glaves.

Snoke sits on an elaborately-carved wooden chair, raised off the ground. As though he fashions himself after tyrants of old.

The very concept fills Rey with nausea and white-hot anger. Before she dares to hesitate, she has drawn her sabre, charging towards Snoke, blade held aloft —

But then Rey doesn't control her own body anymore. Her sabre flies out of her hand to land at Snoke's side. She uses all her strength to push against Snoke's control, her teeth gritted, every muscle crying out in agony, but she cannot even move the smallest toe.

“You appear to have lost control of your apprentice, boy,” Snoke is saying. “As I knew you would. You are far too permissive. A mistake you will not make again after tonight.”

Snoke strokes against her mind, and inside Rey shudders, remembering how he looked at her and Mr. Solo, at the memories she holds most dear, at how she tried to keep the decay from --

She tries to tamp down on the thought, but it is too late. Snoke's eyes narrow.

“And yet, still she hides something! I can see it in her mind."

Rey fights with all her might. She flings every memory she can at him, she builds her tightest fortress, but they all crumble under Snoke’s grasp, he is more focused than he was at Hanna Hall, more suspicious as he rifles through every corner of her life —

_Karina and Harrison as she last remembered them, slowing their breathing so she will think they are fast asleep. Mrs. Kanata watchful beside them. Rey leaving, standing outside their bedroom door, trepidation mounting…_

Snoke pulls out of the memory, so abruptly that she cries out. Tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry, he knows about them, she tries to send to Ben, but still she hits that smooth wall of his mind.

Glacial anger rolls off Snoke, lofty and cold. Rey closes her eyes, thinking he will surely kill her now… but then the anger settles. Snoke exudes a terrible calmness.

“The deception matters little, my dear,” he says in that flat voice without inflection. “Kylo understands his offspring's needs.” Rey cannot bear to see Ben’s reaction to her failure, but she can neither turn to him nor bow her head under Snoke’s control. Still the flat voice continues: “Guidance. Training. And yet you mean to kill me, who could offer those things far better than you, a paltry governess.”

At that, Rey flails harder against the bonds, but Snoke does not even seem to notice. He has fixed his attention on Ben and is leaning forward, voice soft, almost tender: “Kylo could train them well, if he has learned from his failings with his first apprentice. They will not need personal attention from me until they are older. And I am merciful, I will allow that: provided he continues to prove his loyalty."

Ben says nothing. She can feel a prickle of energy at the edge of his mind. _Don’t listen to him, Ben, don’t listen_. Her entire body screams with effort, but still she cannot break free.

"You, Miss Walker, are no use to me,” Snoke declares, waving his hand dismissively. “How easily your mind bent! Still, you may provide some new lesson to Mr. Ren on the value of control over apprentices. But Kylo already knows how to deal with those useless to me, do you not, boy?”

Rey is forced to kneel in front of Ben, forced to look up at him. He raises his sabre, the blade elegant and deadly in the moonlight, the candlelight flickering in his eyes. His pupils at their darkest.

She won’t close her eyes. If he must regain Snoke’s favor to save the children — if she must die like this — at least their eyes can meet one last time. At least she can imagine every future she might have had, gazing at his face. Whist with Karina and Harrison. Walks in the garden after the rain. His chair pulled close to hers every evening. Their knees touching. His gentle hands braiding her hair...

_Please._

But then her sabre, the one Snoke claimed, cleaves Snoke in two. His corpse falls to the side, blood spreading over the edge of her sabre. She collapses to the ground as his hold on her drops.

The room leaps into chaos.

Rey yanks her sabre into her hand from across the room with the Force. She scrambles to stand next to Ben, stance firm. And the men in red armour are upon them — then she is fighting in earnest.

She has never fought against anyone other than Ben. She has never fought with someone by her side. But if sparring against Ben is a perfect dance, then fighting alongside him even more indescribable — not a waltz — no _human_ ritual. Instead, they are something more ancient, a single _animal_ , sinuous and bright and fierce. She can see through his eyes, he can see through hers — is his heartbeat or her own pumping in her ears? Impossible to tell.

The movement of his sabre translates into an action she then carries through. The Force traces every step, weaving the bond between them so tight it could never be broken.

 _Behind you._ He doesn’t need to speak directly in her head; she can sense his intentions. But after a day of silence in the Force, his voice in her mind makes her giddy. She twirls to face the masked man with the glaive that has been creeping up behind her.

 _Focus on your footwork._ _Your left foot drags._ Would he never stop lecturing? She tosses her shoulders and throws him a look, then successfully dispatches her attacker with a clever hand-switch of her sabre.

 _Less talk of footwork, more practical demonstration, sir._ She lets her satisfaction run through the Force, then slides between two of the masked men to improve her position — both for the sake of the fight, and so she can observe Ben’s reaction to her quip.

 _So undisciplined._ But the corners of his mouth bear that telltale smirk. Clearly, he loves this as much as she does.

And she doesn’t miss the way his eyes sear as he watches her move. If they’re not careful, distraction will be the death of them. So she refocuses on the fight.

A good thing, too. There are so many of them, and she has never fought multiple attackers. The soldiers calculate that Ben and Rey are more vulnerable apart. Soon the space between Ben and Rey grows greater as the men come between them. Ben growls in frustration as she is pulled away, she feels his anger in the Force as he cleaves one of his attackers in two. Rey misses a step, and feels the slice of a dagger at her side — a glancing blow, she hardly notices it — but her sabre hits home as she regains her footing.

She takes a deep breath, trying to centre herself. Feeling the Force as she never felt it before.

And then her blade is a blur of parries and strikes. The sound of metal clashing grows and crescendos. Again and again, she saves Ben, or Ben saves her. Blood and sweat flies, bodies fall around them.

Their sabres gleam in the light of the moon and candles.

And then it is over. The room is still and silent, the ground littered with weapons and red. Snoke’s bisected body is lying next to the "throne."

Now that the thrill of the fight has gone, Rey feels faint. She gulps in air. Her legs tremble. A dull ache gnaws at her temple. She has not eaten since the previous evening. That must be why dots cloud the edge of her vision.

"Rey!" Ben shouts, running to her side, his face contorted in concern. She blinks. Why should he be so worried, they've won...

Rey dreamily lifts her hand toward him. The hand has been clutching at her side, she realizes as she lifts it.

Blood drips from her fingertips. Her vision swims.

Ben's eyes are the last thing she sees before darkness overtakes her.

And her last thoughts are of Karina and Harrison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! I just kind of wrapped myself in a knot of logistics and trying to figure out how transportation would work. Some of the next chapters are already written: my goal is to finish the fic before Christmas. 
> 
> (For Finn and Poe fans: sorry they got such a small cameo in this fic! Rey needed a way to find the First Order, but not too quickly, and Finn and Poe seemed like a fun way to do it. And frankly if they were featured more heavily this fic would be far longer than I'm willing to write.)


	11. xi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **cw:** mentions of death

**xi.**

Rey eyes open to branches.

Strange trees.

She is standing fully clothed in her day dress. The same dress she was just wearing in the dark room covered in blood...

She scrabbles for her sabre, but the scabbard is not at her waist. And her dress, she realizes, is clean.

“Oh good, you’re still in one piece. Don’t worry about the weapon, dear, you have no need for it here.”

Rey whips around to see a woman standing a few feet away. The stranger wears a white chemise dress, an older style, with a high waistline. She has her brown hair in two unusual buns at the sides of her head. Her eyes look sharp but kind. Rey could swear she has seen her before, but she looks like no one Rey would have known at Jakku or Niima…

“You’re the painting in the drawing-room,” Rey realizes, and instantly feels rather stupid. Of course, there would be a _person_ to correspond to the portrait. But as she looks closer, she can indeed see tiny brushstrokes on the fabric of the gown.

“Am I?” The woman looks down with interest, smoothing her skirt. “Well, I suppose I had to take some sort of shape here, for you. Could do worse than that youthful portrait, I suppose, though they didn’t get my nose quite right.”

The woman smiles pleasantly as Rey looks around her. She is surrounded by trees, lit as though a cold blue light were coming from the spot where they both stand, the exact centre of a clearing. Rey recognizes the clearing on the grounds of Hanna Hall, where she would meet Mr. Solo for lessons.

But everything is different, of course. She has never seen such a strange quality to the atmosphere.

“Where is _here_?” asks Rey, hoping the woman could provide some answers.

“A between place.”

“Am I dead?” Best to get _that_ question out of the way quickly. But if this place is some part of death, it doesn’t feel so terrible. She feels “above” life. Like a dream where she is a bird, and the Earth looks small from the sky.

“No,” says the woman. “Just brushing against the other world. It makes getting a message to you easier.”

“Most people send letters,” Rey says, crossing her arms.

“I can see why he likes you,” the woman says approvingly, then continues when Rey frowns: “But in any case, ‘most people’ aren’t _dead_. Well, at least most people _you_ know.” The woman chuckles at her own joke.

Silence in the clearing as the laughter fades. _Brushing against the other world..._

“So _will_ I die now?” Rey asks.

Before the woman can reply, a thrum rings through the forest.

Once the winter grew so cold that the lake near the Jakku Institute froze solid. The ice made the same sound then: a singing.

Then a new noise. A pulsing, almost like sloshing water, filling her ears. The sound of her own heavy body. And with the sound comes a lost eagerness, a desire, her thoughts flooding with Mrs. Kanata and the twins and Ben...

“You should go back now,” the woman says. “I suspect my son is trying something foolish. As usual.” She gestures towards a new road leading away from the clearing, which vanishes into inky darkness.

Rey turns and eyes the darkness warily. Best to take it at a brisk pace, she decides, breaking into a trot as she rushes toward the void. _A message, the woman said she had a message,_ she suddenly remembers, but her legs are carrying her forwards...

“Tell Ben I love him, and I am so proud,” Rey hears the woman call behind her. “So is his father. And I’m always around for a chat if he knows where to look.”

And then, the voice at its most tender, drifting away like an echo of an echo: “We always knew he would make his way home.”

Rey runs for a long time through the nothing, which slowly, like dawn creeping on the horizon, becomes a _something_. A something filled with light.

...

Light flickering across her eyelids. Her eyes are closed, but it’s a living light. Horses hooves clop on dirt, but they seem very far away. Her side throbs, but she is warm, and safe. Wool brushing against her cheek. Something smells like woodsmoke, like being at Hanna Hall.

She sleeps again.

...

The light has changed. It’s dimmer now, more golden. And she can no longer hear horses or the smell of woodsmoke. Instead, she is resting on a soft surface.

She can feel something _pouring_ into her, knitting her together. An odd feeling, like her body is drinking deep from a clear well.

“You will stop that at once.” Rey thinks she recognizes Mrs. Kanata’s voice. “The surgeon said she just needs rest. Need I remind you of the state in which you arrived?”

She hears a rumbling growl, too low to understand.

“Patience, child, or I’ll force you out altogether,” Mrs. Kanata insists.

Someone is being scolded. Rey loves the ordinariness of that. She can’t open her eyes. But she tries a small smile, even though can’t move the muscles in her face.

The odd feeling disappears. She doesn’t miss it: she doesn’t like drawing from an unknown source. Her body settles.

Again, sleep.

…

The third time she wakes, she can lift her eyelids. Gradually the room comes into focus. Her room, the room at Hanna Hall. She lies in her own bed. And the sun is shining through the open window, a breeze picking up the edges of the curtains. A beautiful, rare day without clouds or rain.

“Excellent, you’re awake. About time, if I may say so.”

Rey turns her head to see Mrs. Kanata in a chair next to her, the housekeeper’s lumpy knitting abandoned in her lap.

“How long was I asleep?” Rey croaks, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. The events of the past few days feel like a dream: perhaps they were a dream.

“Two days,” Mrs. Kanata replies. “You did remarkably well for someone with an injury like yours. The surgeon was astounded. Although I suspect you had some help before you arrived.” She points a knitting needle to the corner of the room.

Rey lifts herself against the pillows, newly aware of her bandaged side. Nothing in London had been a dream, then. Her gaze follows the direction of the knitting needles … and her chest flutters to see Ben curled in a chair far too small for his limbs, his head falling forward, deep asleep.

Mrs. Kanata gives Rey a sly look over her glasses. “Mr. Solo does hate the process of hiring new governesses. It will be the death of him, if he’s not careful,” she tuts. “He arrived half-dead himself, who knows what Force techniques he used on you. And now he has refused to leave your side, even when he is in desperate need of sleep.”

As though he can hear his name in sleep, Ben opens a bleary eye. Upon seeing Rey sitting up in bed, he hurriedly stands up, bumping a knee against the adjacent washbasin. Mrs. Kanata gives Rey a meaningful look. But Ben doesn’t speak, choosing instead to loom from the corner, as though any action move might send Rey back into unconsciousness.

“I should let the children know you are awake,” the housekeeper sighs, standing up slowly. “I’m afraid with their powers of deduction there will be no keeping them from the knowledge, and I promised to keep them up to-date.”

But Rey wishes to get out of bed to see the children so they aren’t distressed at her state. She argues with Mrs. Kanata, but is overruled. Perhaps in part because Rey is distracted under Ben’s silent stare, the way his eyes fix on her face.

“Both stubborn. You’ll do well together, I think,” says Mrs. Kanata, stepping out the door before Rey can protest. She flushes and looks up at Ben. Apparently, they had not been as good at hiding their attraction as she thought.

And then, they are alone. The Force is a skittish colt between them, so Rey instead focuses on his appearance. His hair is in disarray, he looks unshaven. _From keeping vigil_ , she realizes, and her stomach gives another swoop. He had been waiting for her. He had been missing her.

“My family has a habit of attracting particularly forthright employees,” Ben grumbles, pointedly looking out the window. Rey smiles into her hands, folded into her lap.

“Are you — do you feel any pain?” he asks, rubbing his knuckles.

Rey considers her side, feeling the bandaged spot gingerly. “A twinge like a bruise, nothing more,” she says honestly.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Only some water, please.” Her throat is dry from disuse.

Ben pours her a glass of water from the pitcher at her bedside intended for just such a request. Again, her stomach swoops as he keeps one massive hand on her back, supporting her as she drinks.

“What happened?” she asks when she has finished, in part to distract from her feelings. He is only nursing her, nothing more.

He doesn’t need to ask what her question means.

“After you collapsed,” he begins slowly, “I managed to stabilize you. We needed to get you away from the place, but in my haste, I ran into Hux. And then, there were certain… negotiations.”

From his mind, Rey glimpses steel and harsh whispers. Her spine stiffens.

“Fortunately, I think Hux will stay quiet,” Ben reassures her, “preferring the rest to think he got rid of both us and possibly Snoke. He always craved power: now he is their _de facto_ leader. And he will be glad to be rid of us without fuss: he has never been fond of the Force. He always privately suspected it was spiritual hogwash that interfered with proper business. Attempting to kill us would only be a thorn in his side, and if we want to make a clean break so much the better.”

He shrugs his shoulders, as though he still can’t believe the weight has been lifted off them.

“Best we avoid London for a bit, however,” he tells her. “That is why I brought you to Hanna Hall to recover.”

“A shame,” Rey says, looking out the window, as though she could see past the patch of sky and tree. “I rather liked London.”

“Did you?” His mouth quirks at the corners: he is learning something new about her, and that clearly delights him.

“Yes. I’ve seen very little of the world.” _And would like to see more of it,_ she leaves unsaid. _More rushes of unknown people with unknown talents. More cities._ “But... how did you find me?”

He has the audacity to _snort_ at that, though his eyes are soft. “You’ll never make a first-class spy, I’m afraid. You told the fine woman at the inn that you were trying to get to London. When I found you gone, I thought — you have always been stubborn, perhaps I should have known you would —” he cannot finish the thought, he can’t put her departure into words, not yet, the Force swirls in a cyclone of grief — “well, the woman at the inn confirmed my suspicions.”

They sit in silence. Rey can hear birds calling out the window.

“I think I saw your mother,” she says, finally, and Ben starts at that. He sits down on the bed next to her, looking into her face, eyes searching.

“There is a portrait of her in the drawing-room, is there not? The large painting, in the gold frame.”

Ben nods, he reaches out to grip her hand, and Rey closes her eyes. She shows him what he needs to see in the Force.

_Tell Ben I love him…_

_We always knew he would make his way home…_

When she opens her eyes, his face is turned away from her. His shoulders are shaking.

“I supposed that was her voice,” Rey muses, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand. “On the night Hanna Hall burned. You _weren’t_ hallucinating, Ben.”

The red thread between them becomes almost visible in the Force then, shining like a live wire. He turns back to her, his lashes wet, she reaches out to touch his hair —

A knock on the door. They spring apart from each other as Mrs. Kanata walks through. Rey’s face manages to turn a shade redder than when the housekeeper left. Ben studiously examines the washbasin as though he were intrigued by the sculptor.

“You have visitors,” Mrs. Kanata says, winking at them both and swinging the door wider.

She ushers Karina and Harrison in, one after the other. Their hands are clasped behind their backs, their expressions as serious as Rey has ever seen them. Like members of the clergy, a metaphor which she would never have expected to describe her pupils. They both stand shyly near the door. They stare at their carefully-shined shoes.

“Well?” says Rey, looking them over. She laughs so they know she is all right. “I have never seen such long faces!”

At that, the spell is broken. The children rush to get closer to the bed, placing their hands on the edge and leaning forward.

“You can _never_ have another dinner party!” Karina exclaims as Harrison jumps in simultaneously: “I’m sorry we complained so much about missing the party.”

“In the morning we obviously had a _massive_ incident and destroyed some of the nursery,” Karina says matter-of-factly. Rey suspects she’s using bravado to mask her guilt: her small fingers worry at the sheets. Still, Rey lets her continue. “But we are too old for nurseries, anyhow.”

“And we haven’t had a single fit since then,” says Harrison proudly.

Karina brightens at that, continuing her story: “And yes, it was quite scary when Mr. Solo had to _rescue_ you, but he is _very_ strong, so that was alright — “

“As it turns out, Miss Walker was perfectly capable of rescuing herself,” Mr. Solo tells them from the corner where he stands.

“Yes, that too — we knew you had your sabre, _obviously_ that was the first thing we checked. Had to do detective work, didn’t we?” Karina reasons, turning to Harrison for confirmation.

“But we _knew_ you’d come back,” Harrison beams. “You promised. And the Force said so. _I_ just knew — and Karina too.”

“ _Anyhow_ ,” Karina continues, waving her brother off, “we have been doing our own lessons. Mrs. Kanata helped when Mr. Solo watched you —”

“— not mathematics, that was too much —” Harrison confesses.

“But plenty of _science_ , and also a fat book about people who died a long time ago which was a bore, but we read it anyway, _that’s_ how good we were.”

“I should be on bedrest more often, then,” says Rey, smiling at them. Her heart is full: she has never been more proud of her pupils.

“Never again,” Karina says fiercely, her eyes shining.

“Never _ever,”_ insists Harrison, bottom lip trembling.

And suddenly the twins are both sobbing giant tears with quantities of snot, and Rey is patting their shoulders, and Ben is passing around handkerchiefs, and Mrs. Kanata is offering to bring tea because they could all use a cup.

…

The tea does help, and soon the twins are again chatting at full steam. Rey realizes she is ravenous and devours a loaf’s worth of toast. After that, the children delight in finding the best bits from the kitchen to present to her, rushing in and out of her room until she is stuffed full of cheese and pastries.

Mrs. Kanata grumbles a little at this, saying gruel might be better for her recovery. But tending to their governess helps the children as much as it helps Rey. And she doesn’t feel sick at all, only sated and warm as she listens to Harrison read poetry to her very badly. She closes her eyes, head sinking into the pillows.

Through it all, she can feel Ben observing from a corner. He stays quiet, he sits slightly apart. But the Force is growing stronger between them by the minute again, binding them together like a gold net. She is happy to be observed, to have him here, even if he is silent.

And, as much as Rey loves the children and their pampering, she _does_ begin to wonder when she'll be alone with Ben again.

…

Rey only realizes she has fallen asleep when she wakes again. Night has fallen. A candle is lit beside her, throwing long shadows onto the wall. At first she thinks she is alone, but then she sees Ben, sitting in his customary corner. Still watching with haggard eyes.

“You must sleep.” She frowns, blinking at him.

“I’ll leave soon if you need nothing else from me tonight.” But he does not move.

“You should sleep here,” she grumbles, patting the mattress beside her, using her drowsiness as cover for her audacity. And, when he does not reply, she adds, more forcefully: “I _want_ you to sleep here.”

“I don’t think —”

“I have been _grievously wounded_ ,” she says, attempting a pout.

He looks at her for a moment. Then, to her delight, he sighs and relents. He takes off his shoes and moves to the other side of the bed. She is on her side with her back toward him, suddenly shy as she feels his weight behind her on the mattress. Her breath is loud in her own ears. Her heart is threatening to leap out of her chest.

There is no more movement on the mattress, no more shifting of weight. Gathering her courage, she flips around to face him, wincing slightly as her bad side rests against the bed — only to find his eyes inches from her own.

Their eyes meet for what could be mere seconds but feel like hours. She can feel the heat off his mouth and skin. The Force trembles like rain on the face of a smooth pond.

“I thought you had died,” he says hoarsely. “And before — I nearly went mad, I couldn’t _feel_ you —”

Darkness swirls in the Force around them. One of them, both of them, waking up alone. The endless hallways of 32 Ilum Place. The ever-present fungus in the mind, in their memories. Ben running to her side as she collapsed. Her last glimpse of his eyes, falling into a soundless void without touch or smell or taste…

But she hadn’t died. She is here. The Force is here, reaching again toward him. Like a pruned branch putting out fresh buds. And every nerve is alive in her.

She aches, so she knows she is real. And she tells him so, silently, in every way the Force can.

He places a trembling hand on her hip, the side that isn’t injured. He strokes it lightly, as though to reassure himself that she is no phantom, that she is made of solid flesh. Slow, light touches. Over her nightclothes. Skating up to her collarbone, to the shell of her ear, then back down to her thigh.

Rey closes her eyes. She opens her bond to the Force to its full extent, confronting him with the depth of her desire. The candle flame still dances in her mind. If he doesn’t kiss her now, she thinks she will shatter.

And so he does. A soft kiss, skating over her lips like a fallen leaf.

At first, he gives her only this kiss. Gentle, as though she might break like glass. But she lets out a moan from even this light touch. So he cannot help but press his lips against hers with more urgency; her mouth parts for him, the taste of him utterly addictive; she eggs him on…

“You’re still injured,” he gasps, mouth leaving hers open and wanting. “We shouldn’t.”

“Ben _, please,”_ she sobs. She presses up against him, wet and needy and shaking. He moves a hand beneath the hem of her gown, up to between her legs, groaning into the crook of her neck at the arousal he finds there. She grinds against his palm, trying to get the right leverage —

He presses his other hand to her pelvis, gentle but firm. He raises himself on an elbow to look down at her. "Need you to stay still," he says, his eyes dark. "Need you to not hurt yourself. Can you do that for me?"

She nods frantically. Anything to keep him here, his massive hands warm against her cunt. She stills her hips to show just how _good_ she can be.

And he rewards her with a dizzying stroke, then a second, at first slow, then quicker, using his clever fingers around her clit to work her into a sweat, the stillness he demands only increasing her ecstasy. He slips first one finger inside her, then a second, then an impossible third — Rey is almost cruelly full, her mouth slack and panting. She becomes the candle flame flickering beside them, she moans, she moans —

And all through it, his low voice whispers in her ear, so low it sends waves of pleasure humming through her. How _good_ she is, how _perfect_ and _sweet_ and _strong_ , how well she takes his fingers. The Force glows with his approval, she can almost taste it like nectar on her tongue...

Embarrassing, almost. How quickly she comes for him, his mouth swallowing her shout.

He pulls out his fingers slowly, placing a disarmingly chaste kiss on her forehead. And in that moment, she is certain.

"Want you inside of me,” she murmurs, opening her eyes. She looks up at him, her gaze never wavering.

How the Force between them flares up like a bonfire then! A possessive energy, almost like they dance in a sabre fight, wild and golden and untouchable. She can _feel_ how he wants to pin her to the bed then, to disregard any risk, to mark her, to _claim_ her.

And she feels that too. She cannot wait another moment, now that they have passed through the depths together. Now that they have carved out their own segment of time through blood and steel.

But his words are level when he speaks them, only the smallest tightness to betray his eagerness: "Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she says firmly.

His mouth crushes hers as soon as the words leave her lips — fierce and bruising — she shivers in delight, she is feral too —

But he is tender as he slides her on top of him, so he will not crush her injured side. Careful as he helps her out of the nightdress, careful as he shimmies out of his own clothes like a trick beneath her. Careful as she guides his cock to her entrance, patient as she slowly eases his girth inside her. Only the slightest clench of his jaw, the beads of sweat on his brow, betray the effort he expends to keep from flipping her over, fucking her into the mattress.

Another inch inside her, she shifts her hips — and they both gasp as he slides fully inside. Her cunt flutters around his cock. She watches him through hooded lids, runs her hand over his chest, marvelling at the ease at which she can touch him.

And then he cannot hold back any longer, he jerks his hips up, one hand on her ass as she rises and falls on his cock again and again, the other hand touching her everyone at once...

Rey shatters.

Rey comes together again.

She and Ben are two stars, wrought of flame, impossible to separate.

The world dissolves into nothing but the room and their bodies.

And then the room dissolves, and even their bodies — they become pure pleasure, the Force pulsing between them.

Two words pass back and forth. The only two words left in the universe:

_Ben._

_Rey._

_Ben._

_Rey._

And in that way, they are both made whole.


	12. xii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t thank you all enough for reading, commenting (sometimes on more than one chapter!), and kudos-ing. The response to this fic has been unexpected and wonderful, to say the least. Writing consistently is difficult for me: I’m sure I would have abandoned it a long time ago without your support. So again, thank you all, a million times over! 
> 
> I’ll miss these four crazy Victorian Force kids.

**xii.**

Rey wakes to a delicious ache between her legs and a warm weight around her.

Even in sleep, Ben wraps around her completely, capturing her between his legs and arms.

Rey doesn’t want to disturb him: he has spent so many sleepless nights watching over her. So she stays very still, basking in his warmth and the smell of his skin, feeling his heartbeat so close to hers.

But the change in her breathing, or the new movement in the Force, still wakes him. He raises his head, blinking slowly at her. She loves the softness of his lashes.

For a long time, they do not speak. The Force yawns and settles like a housecat. The morning sun dapples the sheets and his torso. She can’t imagine anything more beautiful.

“I suppose we ought to continue our lessons,” he muses finally. “Once you are completely healed, that is.”

“I thought defeating several persons attacking me at once would qualify me for graduation,” Rey says.

He buries his face in her neck. “Well. You _did_ nearly kill yourself,” he mumbles.

She protests at that, gleefully trying to wriggle her way out of his arms, fighting his hold on her.

“ _Fine_ ,” he growls, pulling her back in. “We will _practice_ our skills together so we stay sharp.” Mollified, she settles back against him.

“Very well. But today, I am still injured,” she points out.

“Yes.” He is nosing her hair, breathing her in, distracted.

“So we will have to dispense with Force lessons this morning.”

“Yes.”

“And the children will not be awake for another half-hour, I am sure.”

“Their governess would know best,” he agrees.

“So there is no need for either of us to get out of bed,” she concludes triumphantly.

He feigns consideration, but she doesn’t miss how his hold on her tightens. “I have much work to-day: check on the grounds, pay some very important accounts, write some essential correspondence...”

“ _Ben,_ ” she whines, grinding against him. “ _Injured.”_ He has made her utterly shameless. But somehow, she doesn’t dislike the change.

“That won’t work forever, you manipulative witch,” he grouses, but he’s already kissing her neck, moving his hand over her ass...

In that half-hour, he turns Rey into a wreck; somehow triumphant, trembling, and incoherent all at once. They make the largest and most glorious mess between them.

...

When Rey has completely recovered, “practice” with Ben turns out to be increasingly ineffective.

Bodices and waistcoats tend to come free of their wearer's bodies.

She can’t blame it _entirely_ on the sabre practice when Ben and Rey return to Hanna Hall red-faced and sweating.

But in another sense, their duels _are_ responsible, Rey supposes. Ben always liked her best with a sabre in hand.

...

He still delights in teasing her. Sometimes he arrives in the study during lessons. He always urgently needs a book behind her head, so that Rey feels his warm breath on her ear as he reaches past her. Sometimes, in the hallway, he slides a hand on her waist for a hot, dizzying moment — and then moves past.

But two can play at that game, Rey thinks as she bends over the fire in the drawing-room, stoking the logs with a poker. Her backside conveniently points towards the spot where Ben sits.

She flashes her most winning smile as she returns to sit next to the children with her book. He scowls, his eyes darkening. His hand tightens on the arm of the chair.

Rey makes sure to run her tongue over her bottom lip each time she turns a page. Out of the corner of her eye, Ben shifts uncomfortably in his seat. She grins, keeping her gaze fixed on the book.

But of course, he has his revenge. As Rey becomes more engrossed in her reading, he projects an image of her the previous night: head thrown back in ecstasy, eyes half-closed, chest flushed and heaving. Stuffed to the brim with his cock.

Rey suddenly can’t focus on the print.

“Miss Walker, perhaps you shouldn’t sit so close to the fire,” he calls out smugly. “You appear to be turning quite red.”

...

They make up secret games. Like the "what did you want to _do_ to me" game.

Rey will show him a memory of them together. Like the moment he brought the microscope home when she took her time looking at the moth’s wing.

The game goes: _What did you want to do to me then?_

Ben always plays filthy, but he innocently strokes her hair. _I wanted to kiss your neck. I wanted you to keep your hands on the microscope while I ran one hand up your ass. To take you just like that, from behind. To make you keep looking at that "marvellous" moth while I fucked you. Wanted to make you squeak. Wanted to leave your perfect cunt dripping with my spend when I flipped your skirt back, when I made you look_ presentable _._

Mr. Solo _, you utter scoundrel._ But she will shiver happily, lean into him, brush her nose against his bare shoulder. _I wanted that too._ And she will smile.

...

She tells him stories about life at the Jakku Institute. About Rose.

He tells her stories about his parents. About the months when the children first came to Hanna Hall.

His past and interests are an endless country. She could spend hours exploring his mind. And apparently, Ben feels the same about her. He is full of questions, as though Rey were a poem he wants to commit to memory: _how did you decide…, when did you first…_ , _what is your favourite…_

But there are some topics they do not touch. They never speak of the future.

To Rey, the future shimmers like a fragile soap bubble. In the wrong breeze, their life together could burst. Someday, they might both wake up, and the dream would end.

...

In the end, the news that breaks their barriers arrives by letter. Mr. Mitaka delivered it to Ben, who now hands it to her in the study. Rey stares at her name above the seal. She could burn it if she chooses.

But she does not choose to do so. Instead, she breaks the wax and unfolds the parchment. She skims the neat handwriting, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth.

She scarcely believes the contents. _A grandfather… upon his recent death a will was found… leaves Miss Rey Walker all of his property… 5000 pounds… request Miss Walker prove her identity…_

When she is done reading, she flings the parchment at Ben, as though the letter were a hot coal. He takes his turn to skim the pages, eyes growing wide.

“Well, Rey,” he says slowly, looking up at her. “I think you may be quite wealthy, now. An heiress, in fact.” His expression is inscrutable. She dare not look into his mind with the Force.

“It is time for the children’s lessons,” she says, her mind torn in a thousand directions. And she flees, leaving him holding the letter.

…

The world has many scales, she thinks.

On one scale, she is constantly aware of Ben: his mind, his body, the way both move in relation to hers. On that scale, they are both the biggest objects in the universe, and Hanna Hall is the only box big enough to hold them both.

On a second scale, she is constantly aware of her smallness. Her insignificance as a governess. How little she knows of the world, how the journey to London nearly overwhelmed her, and how small even the largest city is on the scale of the continent, even smaller on the scale of the entire Earth.

Now she is a wealthy woman. To others in society, she might no longer be insignificant. On their scales, she might be near equal in power to Ben.

But still the world swirls with its vastness.

Rey is beginning to think she no longer wishes to be _only_ a governess.

But she doesn't know how that changes her world in relation to Ben, or to the children. Does she have a place at Hanna Hall without being his governess, or mistress? And after she refused him... She cannot help the gnawing thought his feelings may have changed, now that the urgency of leaving Snoke is gone.

But the bond in the Force when they are together… surely that would not lie.

Rey is so rarely afraid of anything. But in truth, her own _wanting_ leaves her exposed like a nerve. And she is not yet brave enough to face it.

...

Rey is lost in thought as Harrison and Karina take turns looking through the microscope, making precise drawings of the beetle they found months back. The quiet sound of pencils scratching paper makes her mind wander. She wanders so far that she scarcely knows she will ask the question until it leaves her mouth:

“If I were to have an apartment in the city,” Rey asks, “would you both want to visit me?”

Harrison looks up from his sketch; Karina lifts her face from the eyepiece. Rey curses her traitorous mouth. She should not trouble her charges until she has a decision. But they show no sign of distress as they consider her question.

“Would Mr. Solo come too?” Harrison asks.

Rey clears her throat, trying not to think of Ben. “Perhaps. If he liked.”

“It’s much better to have you here,” Karina decides. She returns to her drawing, as though Rey’s proposal were clearly preposterous.

“Yes, it makes so much more sense.” Harrison nods. He flips the pencil in his hand. “Mr. Solo _likes_ you.”

“And you like him. We’re not stupid, you know. We see you both _looking_ ,” Karina declares, with only the slightest look of disgust as she shades the wing on the beetle.

“And _you_ like us,” Harrison says, turning his head towards Rey. “And I like you.”

“And so do I,” says Karina, flashing Rey one of her rare smiles.

“So you will stay, Miss Walker, won’t you?”

And in that moment, Rey realizes the twins have grown taller, and more sure. They are more pensive and less inclined to rages. Their reaction takes her aback. Everything seems so simple through their eyes.

“We shall see,” Rey says, making a show of flipping through the monograph in front of her. “I have made no real plans yet. In any case, I never wish to be very far from you both.” And the lesson continues without another question from the twins.

…

The sun bends low over the trees edging the lawn. Karina and Harrison have been hunting for a certain large cricket they saw in a monograph. Rey began the search with them but has fallen behind now. Their governess only slows them down. She rests her hand on the bark of an aspen. A good tree, strong, even as the branches tremble in the breeze.

She senses Ben in the Force before she hears his footfall behind her. Rey continues walking but lets him fall in place beside her. His large body, as always, has a gravity that pulls on her own. But she waits for him to speak.

“The children say you are considering taking an apartment elsewhere,” he says after a moment.

“I am not sure I could leave,” Rey says, still walking. “The children, I mean.”

“But you are thinking of going,” he states.

“Yes.”

“I see,” he says, then falls silent.

They have reached the wreckage of the oak Rey split, on the night where every emotion between them spilt over. Already the wood has become a new habitat for small moving things. She thinks about the blazing hearth that night, the way Ben gripped her arms on the settee. The way Rey had taken what she wanted. She had been invincible, then.

“Is that all you can think to say, _sir_?” she asks, stopping her strides, daring him to object.

He stops with her. Rey is now facing him, gazing into his dark eyes, but he looks away. “I suppose there is nothing I can do to stop you.” He plucks a leaf from a low branch. “If you decide to leave.”

She could bear anything but his indifference: she almost turns away. But some odd grief reaches out to her in the Force. She realizes she is shaking. And that Ben’s hand is worrying the green leaf. And perhaps, also, that she is braver than she thinks.

“You could ask me to _stay_ , Ben," she cries, her voice breaking. And then, steadier, looking him in the eyes despite the tears stinging her own: "You could ask me to stay _._ ”

Her words feel like an earthquake. A fissure in the earth through which an animal could crawl. Or an opening in which a fresh spring could bubble.

She sees him swallow, hears his steadying breath. The Force stirs around them both like a breeze that carries the promise of a storm.

“Well. It has come to my attention,” he says finally, “that you are a terrible governess. Perhaps the worst my children have ever had.”

The shock of _that_ startles her out of her tears. She opens her mouth, makes a noise of indignation. The _nerve_ of him, to say such a thing, after all that she has done for him…

“Do not interrupt,” he says, raising a finger in that old infuriating way. “You allow the children to study whatever they please, so they have gaps in their knowledge. I doubt Harrison could name the Prime Minister, and Karina has never touched a piano. You give them too many sweets, so they have become spoiled. You let them run unruly around the estate: they are constantly covered in mud, and frequently disrespect their elders. Worst of all, you are negligent in your duties. You even left in the dead of night without prior notice.”

“Well then,” she sniffs haughtily. But she knows he is teasing her; her curiosity is piqued. “I shall pack my bags, sir. Though you have certainly never raised objections before.”

“True. Perhaps, then, you might still stay at Hanna Hall. But not as a governess,” he says, and Rey’s heart leaps to her throat. She hardly dares breathe. A tree of hope is growing in her mind, fast becoming taller than them both, giving rise to a vast forest…

He takes her fingers in his large hand. His voice is low, catching in his throat as he continues: “You could be my wife. If you’ll have me after all.”

Rey can’t move. If she moves, the spell will break. The dream will end. She will wake up in her cold bed at Jakku, the gleaming thread between them vanishing in her fingers.

But Ben keeps speaking, taking a cautious step toward her. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you sooner. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to me. And your new fortune gives you many options.” He is so close to her. She could fall into his eyes. “My feelings for you have never wavered.”

How could she not kiss him then?

How does kissing him never tire her? She could spend all her days with his lips on hers: drinking in the exquisite delicacy of his hands cradling her face, running her fingers through his hair. Delighting in the tip of his nose brushing her cheek. Parting her mouth to him. Drawing out a groan from him.

Each new kiss is the best she has ever tasted.

“But we could still travel, if you like,” he says rapidly when they both gasp for breath, “we could live anywhere —”

“I think I will,” Rey says, silencing him with another quick kiss. “Have you. Because I love you, Ben.”

He lifts her, then, hands firm on her waist, mouth slanting back on hers. The Force sings with the clarity of a bell. The wood fills with their absolute certainty. The sun dips lower on the hills. Rey could bask in this moment for the rest of her life.

The split tree, the lawn, the Hall.

Karina and Harrison in the distance.

Ben.

All brushed in gold.

...

They marry in the chapel in the village. The only witnesses present are Mr. Mitaka, Mrs. Kanata, Kaydel, and the twins.

Ben insisted Rey should have a dress in the finest silks and pearls and lacework — until he was informed that the handiwork involved in the dress of his imagining would delay their nuptials by several months. So in the end, Rey wears her grey silk dress.

The ceremony is small, swift, and utterly perfect. Ben _lunges_ at Rey when the clergyman pronounces them married, kissing her until she is breathless, their guests are hoarse from cheering, and the clergyman has given up on coughing politely to restore order.

 _This can’t last_ , Rey thinks as they walk back to the house together, arm in arm. The children throw birdseed, using the Force so she and Ben get the full effect of their exuberance.

 _This can’t last,_ she thinks as Ben throws her on his — _their_ — bed. He gives her a long look before bending down to kiss her, as though torn between the desire to drink her with his lips and eyes.

 _This can’t last,_ she thinks on a quiet evening with a book in the drawing-room. _This can’t last,_ when she only has to look up from a page to see Ben beside her, hand resting on her ankle. _This can’t last_ , when the twins finally manage to beat her and Ben at whist.

And then the day after, and the day after.

Rey still feels impossibly blissful. Like she’s waking up from the best dream but the dream continues: the sun streams through the windows, she smells fresh toast and clean linens, and everyone she loves is beside her. And the world loves her just as fierce in return.

Karina and Harrison shouting in the garden. Ben whispering endearments into her hair. Rey nuzzling his collarbone in return.

Impossible to be gifted _this_ , surely _._ What did she do to merit this feeling? Surely no human can hold this happiness. Surely it must shatter her into a million pieces. She will die of bliss.

But Reader, they all keep living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks! 
> 
> What happens afterwards: 
> 
> * The children's education is split between Ben, Rey, and a third person they hire (with the twin's approval and after much grilling) to fill in any gaps. They frequently take long trips around the world with the twins in tow, which only enhances their education.  
> * Once the twins are older and more independent, Rey and Ben start a school that any Force-sensitive child can attend, regardless of means.  
> * Karina becomes an actress and fencer.  
> * Harrison becomes an actual archachnologist. 
> 
> And do they have any more Force adventures? Well, Luke is still wandering out there, should Ben ever decide they need to reconcile...

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't have a AO3 account and don't want to keep checking back here, you can find me on Twitter: [@sparrowshift](https://twitter.com/sparrowshift). 
> 
> I sometimes post previews there.


End file.
